


Sandalwood

by sailtheplains



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cole states the awkward truth, Cultural Differences, F/M, grown ass man, grown ass woman, magic has a scent, with his shit together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7259017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I haven't gotten to focus on Cullen yet. </p>
<p>And I like Cullen. A lot.</p>
<p>And because I had never played the first two games, when I first met Cullen in Inquisition--I called him Football Jock until I could remember his name. I thought he was going to be the Handsome Jerk. I'm very happy to say that I was wrong about him being a 'jerk'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tiny Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your Inquisitor for this evening: Izzy; elven mage

“You are Dalish, are you not?”

Izzy lifted her eyebrows. “Haha, what gave it away?” She pointed to her face.

The mage sniffed, looking down his pointed, fine nose at her. “The Dalish are children who misinterpret stories greater than themselves. It seems I can’t run into one of you without you telling me about the superiority of the Dalish. The self-described Keepers of history and language of a society greater than you could ever imagine.”

Izzy burst out laughing. “Oh, well, _excuse_ me, your worship. I didn’t know that you could instantly know what kind of person I am based on some marks on my face. Why don’t you tell me more about who I am, since you’re here?”

Solas narrowed his eyes at her.

“What? You don’t want to now? You were really nice to me at the Temple, man. What happened between then and now? Is it because I couldn’t close the Breach or something?”

“That was out of your control.”

“Yeah, no shit. So are the Dalish. Out of my control. What do you want me to say?”

“You were the Keeper’s first for your clan—“

“Now, let’s hold onto that aravel trail real quick, _hahren_ ,” she said the title with a slight edge of sarcasm. “I wasn’t there on my clan’s behalf. I left my clan three years ago.”

Solas blinked at her. “Too many mages?”

“Something like that. I was at the Conclave because I showed up. Had a friend working the door, so to speak. So yeah, I _was_ Dalish—heck, my clan even sent someone there. The new First, poor bastard—he’s dead now. As are his assistants and a couple hunters that went with him. But I wasn’t there for Lavellan. Happy coincidence, sort of. But since I survived and no one else did—I imagine no one will question it. They’ll assume I was there for Clan Lavellan. And the clan won’t deny it. That would be stupid. They’ll get all kinds of help now.”

Solas peered at her curiously. “So….who are you, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t Dalish anymore, by your own admission. You left. Did you go to a city?”

“Yeah right—and risk getting thrown in an alienage?”

“So where did you go?”

“Wherever I wanted—look, what does it matter to you? You’re an apostate, like me. But you don’t identify with me. You claim you aren’t Dalish, you certainly aren't a city elf and you’re _definitely_ not a Circle elf. They'd have made you Tranquil by your twelfth birthday. So what do you want from me? You were nice to me at the Temple and now you’re acting like I’m a jerk for something I haven’t done yet.”

The other elf hesitated, peering at her. “All right, I concede the point, Herald.”

“Well, that’s good to know, I guess?” Izzy shrugged, folding her arms together. “So, we don’t have to talk about elf stuff. I just thought you might know more than me—since you seemed like you studied a lot. I was just curious. That’s the only reason I asked you. I didn't want to talk about the Dalish at all...” She glanced away, waving her hands around as if to emphasize the point. “So I’ll go ahead and go to the tavern instead.”

Solas was still watching her, peering at her. “I…can tell you what I know.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, a little uncomfortable. “Later, _hahren_.” She turned and walked away.

Solas watched her, the sun-shaped end of her staff poking high over her shoulder. 

 

 

 

Izzy walked Haven. It was a small village, hardly more than a settlement but it was abuzz with people of all kinds. She could see her _vallaslin_ when she looked in the windows of the tavern. Stupid markings of Ghilan’nain on her cheeks. She didn’t mind Ghilan’nain so much but shit, she wished she could ditch the tattoos. At least then she wouldn’t get a bunch of hassle for _that_ too. What was the deal with that guy, Solas? 

She found herself sitting with Varric by a large, warm fire. They shared her pouch of tobacco (Antivan Seeker) and sat discussing lyrium as each smoked from their own pipe. 

“So,” she started, “you seem to have way too much common sense to be here, Varric.”

That made Varric laugh. “Yeah, normally, you’d be right.”

“So what’s the deal? 

“Well, I’m from Kirkwall—“

Izzy sat up straight. “Wha--really?”

“Yes—and it’s not that bad. But I was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“No shit? With Hawke?”

“Yeah—have you been to Kirkwall?”

“I passed through. Saw him from a distance,” she told Varric, fanning herself with her hand. “Now, there’s a guy I wouldn’t mind teaching some elven vocabulary to.”

Varric burst out laughing, almost dumping his pipe. “What would you teach him?”

“The elven gods and how to invoke them.”

“I’ll have to pass that along.” The dwarf grinned.

“Why isn’t _that_ guy here? You’d think recent heroes would be all over this shit.”

“Well, he went underground after Kirkwall. I don’t know where he is now,” Varric told her. “It was pretty chaotic, what happened there. He's been through enough.”

“Understandable, probably doesn’t want to get within ten miles of this place if he’s already been through the ringer.”

“He has,” Varric said, pulling on his pipe and then emptying the ash into his palm and wiping it on his trousers. “So, Izzy. Is that short for something?”

“Ugh, Isadora. I prefer Izzy.”

“Got it. I probably won’t call you that—but I’ll try to remember.”

“Big on nicknames, right? Pentaghast is the Seeker. The grouchy elf is Chuckles, right? What’s with that guy?”

“Yeah—he showed up right after the explosion. Right after we got your body, actually. He sat beside you for probably four days, trying to figure out the Mark.”

“Ugh, that’s kind of creepy.”

“Well, he wasn’t just watching you sleep, at least. He _did_ keep it from killing you.”

She snorted softly. “I suppose he couldn’t wait for me to wake up so he could get pissed off at me for being Dalish.”

Varric’s eyebrows lifted. “Did that happen?”

“Yeah—I don’t get it. He was nice to me at the temple but here…he got all weird.”

“Well, don’t take it personally. He’s like the Seeker—they don’t really know how to act like people sometimes. They’ll come around.”

"She doesn't bother me so much. She just threatened to kill me. I'm Dalish, I've gotten that reception before. And it made sense, really. It doesn't really bother me. But...Solas....I dunno."

Varric laughed a little. "Don't be so hard on Chuckles. He'll come around. How could he not?"

She sighed a little, looking into the bowl of her pipe. “That’d be nice. I mean—I just…I dunno.” She looked at the Mark. “It’s not like I asked for this.”

“Yeah—you got the raw deal but—don’t get too down on yourself. There will be plenty of others ready to do that for you. You become your own worst enemy and you’ll go crazy.”

“No shit there,” she agreed, offering him more tobacco. 

 

 

 

“Hold!” the seeker cried out. “We are not apostates!”

Izzy cackled as they ran. “Well, okay, to be fair, _half_ of us aren’t apostates. The other half of us _definitely_ are.” She bounced out of the way of a huge armored bear of a man and charged her staff, shooting bolts of electricity down his armor.

“Why do you antagonize them?” Solas asked. “Would it not be better to go unnoticed?”

“Well, yeah. But we couldn’t this time.”

“Or you are simply unable to comprehend another course of action save yelling and flailing.”

She laughed. “That too.”

Solas wrinkled his nose at her. “Foolish.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got the Mark, not you. So any time you want to leave, _hahren_ , go for it.”

He scowled. “I take this seriously. Until the Breach is closed—I will not leave Haven.”

“Great. So you hang with the Seeker and I’ll just run with Varric and then you won’t be insulted by my _vallaslin_ and I won’t be insulted by you twanging your ears at me or whatever.”

Solas planted the end of his staff into the dirt, studying her with a critical eye. Izzy watched him carefully, tensing in case he attacked her. But he didn’t. He just studied her for a long moment. 

“What!” she said, finally. 

“Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, _da’len_.”

“Yeah, I’d agree with that.”

“Good, because there are rogue mages coming down the hill,” Varric told them. “So show them that _our_ apostates are better than theirs, please.”

“Can do!” Izzy turned away, whirling her staff. 

That seemed to help. It stopped her and Solas from sniping at each other—when neither of them really seemed to want to be doing it in the first place—and they focused on working around each other. He cast barriers, she went on the attack. When she pulled back to recharge, he leapt forward and she protected him. When the mages fell, the two of them shifted on their feet, looking sidelong at each other.

“We all right?” She asked him.

He nodded. “You are skilled. Did your Keeper teach you?”

“Partially—learned the other part while I was traveling.”

“There is a great deal to learn out in the world, I agree.”

“So, uh…can you show me that barrier trick you do, _hahren_?”

That seemed to put the other apostate at ease (it helped that her _hahren_ was noticeably less sarcastic this time). He was a natural teacher underneath that attitude. 

Varric just laughed at them. “Good thing she’s not a Circle mage—they’d still be tripping on their staff sizes otherwise.”

Cassandra cracked a smile. 

 

 

 

When they returned to Haven, the Seeker took her aside. “The rest of our advisers have arrived. I need you to meet with them.”

That seemed fair enough and so Izzy followed Cassandra to the back of the Chantry. Inside, there was a beautiful Antivan woman named Josephine, dressed in cream and green with her hair bound up in an elegant knot. Everything about her spoke good breeding, grace and refinement. The other was a man, Cullen, who was tall and blond and rough. 

Izzy greeted them both, Josephine with a careful smile and this Cullen with a quick analyzing look. A warrior-type, probably. And a Templar—from the scent of sandalwood that lingered around him (and all other Templars). That immediately raised all kinds of red flags. She’d had to run more than once from Templars. So he was probably used to getting his way when dealing with mages. He was handsome too--another potential strike against him. She eyed him carefully.

“He is no longer a Templar,” said Sister Leliana, raising her eyebrows at the elf. “You do not have to worry about him.”

Izzy stiffened, eyes jerking over to the Nightingale. 

“She is our spymaster,” Cassandra told her. “And she is correct—Cullen is no longer a Templar.”

“Is there an echo?” Cullen asked, chuckling. “I am, in fact, no longer a Templar.”

Izzy looked at everyone and then at him. “So. You’re a Templar?” She asked mock-brightly. 

That made him snicker. 

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “He is in charge of our standing army.”

“You look like you’re about to go on a Highland Games run with them,” Izzy said.

“I’m surprised a Dalish elf would know about Highland Games,” Cullen said.

“Mostly just the one where you throw tree trunks.”

“It’s terrible on your back.”

“I imagine.” _All right, maybe he's okay?_

 

 

 

Izzy twitched, trying hard not to fidget.

“Stay still, please, my lady,” Josephine advised as the seamstress laid a length of measuring tape along her arm. 

“I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

“You seem accustomed to being very active,” Josephine said. “We could get you someone to practice combatives, if you would like.”

“I would--yes, that might be good,” she said, clenching her fingers so she wouldn’t twist them into her clothes. “S’good for me to keep busy.”

“I have been told that you were not traveling with your clan when you arrived at the Conclave,” Josephine said. “Were you traveling alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, that makes sense then. One who travels alone, especially a woman, must always be on her guard. I assure you, my lady, you will not be harmed here. Would you be interested in spear work or would you like to try another kind of weapon?”

“Uh. I dunno. Uh. Maybe daggers or short swords?”

“I will make the necessary arrangements. May I ask why you separated from your clan?”

“Eh—they didn’t really want me to be Keeper but I’d already been named. So I left. Made it easier on everyone involved.”

Cullen entered the makeshift war room, carrying a bundle of maps. He did a slight double-take at Izzy standing on a chair with a seamstress sticking pins in her while Josephine supervised. “Having fun?”

“You wanna trade?” Izzy asked him.

He grinned. “Not a chance. Besides, I don't think green suits me.”

That made her laugh, tilting her head a little to observe him as he laid the maps down on the table. “I just spoke to Harrit—we got in a shipment of druffalo leather and spelled brocade for her armor,” he said to Josephine, nodding at the Herald.

“As an elf, would you prefer not to wear boots?” Josephine asked. If the Ambassador noticed how the elf appeared to be unconsciously biting her lip, she said nothing of it.

“What--uh--no. Haha. I’m not Solas. I’ll take some boots. How does he not step on nails or broken glass every day? Are his feet made of dragon leather?”

“Ew,” Josephine cringed. “It must be most uncomfortable.”

“And. Sweaty,” Cullen said, wrinkling his nose. 

“Please stop, Cullen,” Josephine requested.

“Do you think he uses magic to keep his toenails clean?” Izzy asked, seeming unable to help herself.

“Ugh,” Cullen grimaced. “I don’t want to know.” 

“We should discuss Val Royeaux,” Josephine said loudly.

“If I’m going to Val Royeaux, I am getting tiny cakes to bring back. Their little cakes are amazing.”

“The frilly ones,” Cullen suggested, “with the cream inside?”

“Yeah! If you want me to bring back some—just write down the flavors. We’ll get them back here or eat them on the way. It’ll be worth it, regardless.”

“It is imperative that you talk to the Lord Seeker, Lady Herald.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll nug-tie him or something.”

“Um, no. You. No. You cannot do that,” Josephine said, shaking her head.

“Okay. I’ll just lasso him.”

“Not _that_ either.”

Izzy laughed. “Geez, take the fun out of everything, Ambassador.”

“I will go with her to ensure she stays on task,” Cassandra said, who’d followed Cullen inside to lean against the doorway, watching the exchange with a bemused little smile.

“You’ve done it now,” Cullen said. He must have felt Cassandra’s glare because he was suddenly chuckling at the maps on the table.

 

 

 

Izzy was still far more concerned with little cakes when they arrived in Val Royeaux. Yeah, the stupid Chantry birds parroted back the garbage that they believed about the wicked deviant elf. She pointed at the hole in the sky and started to flip them the bird—

Cassandra grabbed her fingers. “We are only here to _help_.”

It all continued rolling downhill when the Lord Seeker showed up. After he stalked off, Cassandra huffed.

“Okay, first thing, Lord Seeker has a face like a rotten potato. Secondly, where do we go for tiny cakes?”

Varric chuckled. “This way.”

“We need to get back to Haven,” Cassandra said.

“We can spare an hour, Seeker.” 

 

 

 

Cullen had requested the mint cakes—the ones with that zesty dried embrium sprinkled on top. Leliana had wanted raspberry. She gave Leliana hers first and then went inside the Chantry to find Cullen. It had taken some work to protect the little boxes on the way back (mostly from Varric and Sera). 

Cullen was in the makeshift war room, looking over the maps with a dedicated intensity. He glanced up when she entered. “I heard about Val Royeaux.”

She chuckled. “Then you know the Lord Seeker has a face like a boiled potato.”

He snickered. “At this point, he could turn into a dragon and I’m not sure I’d be surprised.”

“Ha, well—I came through as promised.” She held out the box.

The commander eyed it curiously and took it. “What is—“ He seemed surprised when he opened it up and saw two little stacked rows of tiny cakes. “You actually got them.”

She laughed. “Well, yeah. What kind of bitch would I be to say I was bringing back cakes and then not bring them.”

“I’m surprised Cassandra let you take the time.”

“Varric had my back. Solas had no opinion—so I won.”

Cullen looked into the box, smiling a little in a bemused sort of way. And then he looked at her. His eyes looked almost analyzing, narrowing a little as he seemed to examine her. 

Izzy shifted on her feet. “Er. Are they….uh….okay? You wanted the mint ones, right?”

Cullen seemed to come out of whatever thought he was having, “Oh, yes, of course. I owe you, Herald.”

“I—yeah. I. Er, I mean. No. I mean. You don’t owe me anything. S’just cake.” She drug her fingers through her brown hair. “Well. I. I better go. I have to go do. I dunno, Herald-y shit. Cassandra wants me to. I. Yeah.” She turned her awkward hand flailing into a lazy salute and then wheeled around to leave.

Outside the door, she stood there for a moment, scowling to herself. It was creepy when they looked at her all intense like that. Solas did that sometimes. It was like they were looking in, trying to find her thoughts. And Cullen was—all right, maybe she’d misjudged Cullen. Maybe he wasn’t like other Templars. There was some sort of bone-deep sadness to him. Or thoughtfulness. Or something. Hopefully, it was just the Templar wearing off of him.

She huffed and shook herself. It didn’t matter. It didn’t. 

She stalked off to her quarters. 

 

 

 

For a long time, she sat on her bed, looking at the wall. She reached up, gently touched her left ear, which had been sheared about two inches from the tip. Half-ear, was the term she often heard. Usually, she heard it from city elves, which was ironic, all things considered. Who cared if it was the same establishment that the City elves hated? Getting half an ear lobbed off marked her as a thief in human cities, a runaway slave in Tevinter, and someone who’d turned away from the Dalish, to the nomad clans like Lavellan.

Her right ear was still intact, a long and slender shaft of flesh and tendon. It had a leather cuff over the top edge to decorate it. It also kept bugs from biting the tip of the ear. The tips of the ears were very sensitive. The left one still burned and itched sometimes.

And they got so damn cold, she recalled the next day. It was snowing heavily in Haven. Most of the village had taken refuge inside, bundled up by their fires. Except for the Seeker and the commander.

Cassandra and Cullen were outside, each of them leading a small team in practice. Most of their forces were taking the day to rest—but this group was different. Cullen and Cassandra were prepping them for forward line pike fighting. To stand at the front and hold a spear or pike as solid as an oak tree while enemy forces bore down on you was tough work, requiring strength of arm and an iron resolve. They were most likely to die first or trampled by horses. Izzy wandered out to watch, her heavy cloak blowing dark green in the stark white snow. The points of her staff were coated in white barely five minutes after leaving the warmth of her quarters. She massaged the end of her right ear as she headed for the only tent still standing. The rest were all closed up while their soldiers crowded the tavern and the Chantry. The lone ranger of a tent was actually a wooden structure with a roof but the walls were open. Now, they were lined and buttoned up with multiple layers of leathers. It was larger than she expected and actually quite snug with all the canvas and leathers blocking the wind. The walls of the tent were home to stacks of equipment in various states of repair, trunks full of supplies for the soldiers and large stacks of maps and parchment. There were even a couple of cots stacked with blankets near the back corner. It seemed to be some kind of supply tent. It was the only place that a fire could survive in this blasting snow. She renewed a barrier some thoughtful mage had put around it and warmed her hands. 

She could just made out tall and noble Cassandra, fighting against the wind as she pushed on the attack. Her group attacked Cullen’s, sliding on ice and snow, tired from their armor and weapons and the cold. There were shouts above the wind and ringing steel. Izzy drew her cloak up tight around her. She wasn’t sure how much longer they kept it up but eventually the shouts quieted. Cullen’s commander voice was on, all hard edges and confidence, as he dismissed his recruits. He and Seeker Pentaghast staggered under the tent and quickly went to the flaps to close them. 

“Holy shit. You two look like snowmen.”

Cassandra pulled off her helm. “How long have you been here?”

“I dunno. You were attacking the commander’s team and then someone called Brade lost hold of his shield and it went flying down to the lake?”

Cullen sighed. “That boy—butterfingers. But he’s _strong_. And he’s not stupid—just. Clumsy.”

“Here, Seeker,” Izzy stood up to help Cassandra get her shield off. “It’s practically mortared to you with ice.”

Cassandra huffed. “Thank you. I will go walk through the tavern and make sure they’re not destroying anything. I will go to the Chantry afterwards, Cullen.” And with that, she left the tent.

Izzy chuckled. “You still look like a big, snowy bear, commander.”

He chuckled as he traded his armor chestplate for a few more shirts and a thick cloak. “So what drew you out here today?”

“Just wanted to watch. I could just barely hear over the wind—heard you all practicing. I’m pretty sure you’re some kind of machine.”

He placed a kettle over the fire and warmed his hands. “Might be. The soldiers are better—I’m starting to feel old.”

“Nah, you’d rot if you didn’t have something to do, Commander.”

“You know, you can call me Cullen. I don’t stand much on ceremony. You’re the Herald and I don’t come from nobility.”

She chuckled a little awkwardly. “I guess I just hadn’t, uh….quite gotten a read on you all yet.”

Cullen nodded a little. “I suppose you have been thrust into all of this rather against your will.” He set out two mugs and opened up a fragrant canister to spoon some ground up herbs into each other. “Tea?”

“Oh—right—oh—sorry. I didn’t. Ha, I didn’t realize—“ she jumped up to help, grabbing the kettle off the coals.

“No, I didn’t mean that—“ Cullen tried to say but she was already hurrying over, the edges of her cloak wrapped around the handle of the kettle as she poured steaming hot water into each mug. “Well—sorry about that. We both misunderstood.”

“Ugh,” Izzy grunted. “Doing that whole ‘interacting with people’ thing is a real pain in the ass.”

Cullen snorted into his mug. “Yes, I agree.” He reached over to a small pack and took out the little box she’d brought him from Val Royeaux. “They might be hard as rocks from the cold—but I imagine if you dip them into the tea, they’ll suffice.” He opened up the wooden catch and offered it to her.

“Ah, geez—tea and now your little cakes? Cullen. Seriously, no.”

“Take one,” he told her sternly.

“All right. Twist my arm,” she laughed and pinched one between her fingers to lift it out. “Is this your allotment for the day?”

“I allow myself _two_ every day,” he informed her, so seriously that she started to laugh again.

She nibbled on the tiny cake, a minty corner here, a blend of chocolate there and the spicy dried embrium leaves that always lit her tongue up. It was easier to focus on that because finding herself sitting next to him, alone, in what she now knew to be _his_ tent—shit, why hadn’t she fucking _noticed_ that. Well, it wasn’t like she’d ever been in here before. And she’d assumed that he was staying in one of the little houses in Haven. Why would the commander be sleeping outside with the soldiers—

_Oh._

That made something odd go through her chest. She wasn’t quite sure how to interpret the feeling, like being smothered. Only it was something swelling in her and trying to get out rather than not letting something in.

She glanced sidelong at him and started a little. He was looking right at her, as if he’d heard her thoughts. She straightened up. “Well. I. Um. I should go. Check on. Varric.”

Cullen tilted his head to the side slightly, a half-smile crooked up. “On Varric?”

“You know—um—if it snows too much, we’ll lose him. Cause he’s. Short.”

“Oh. Right.” Cullen chuckled. 

“Ha,” she barked, far too loudly and then coughed awkwardly. Her palms were sweating. “Well. Bye.” And she turned and fled.


	2. Pinprick of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well,” said Solas. “We should probably go back inside the gates.”
> 
> The four of them looked at each other and then a blast of fire exploded next to them. 
> 
> “All right! All right!” Izzy said, flailing with her hands and staggering up. She nearly crashed into Solas, skidding on wet mud to whip around and help him up. She laughed wildly as they careened on the snow, scampering into Haven’s gates.

"Your templar clearly knows where to draw the line."

Izzy's shoulders stiffened. "He's not _mine_."

Roderick stared at her blankly. "What?"

"I. Uh. I mean. He's. Not like he's a dog or something. Cullen, come here, boy. You want a biscuit?" She reached up and pet his mantle.

Cullen stared at her. "Did you just call me a dog? Is it because I'm Fereldan?"

She bubbled over on a laugh at his bemused expression. 

"A mutt, more like," Roderick snapped. "How best to represent this heretical Inquisition."

Izzy did a double-take and pointed her thumb at Roderick. "Why is he still talking?"

"I think he enjoys the sound of his own voice a little too much."

“Make your jokes while you can, prisoner.”

“Hey, I can do that!” She said brightly. “Might be the only thing I can do. Do you think I could close the Breach with enough puns?”

“You ought to have more care, elf. Making light of the Breach only adds to the suspicion that you caused it.”

“Oh shit, you’re probably right. Explosive evil power, obviously very sensitive about jokes. Like, look Breach, you’re big, yeah. But you’re _not_ fat. Who said that? That’s just mean. You look great in a world-destroying sort of way!”

Cullen snorted. Roderick scowled at her and stalked off. 

Izzy chuckled to herself. “I probably shouldn’t antagonize him.”

“Probably,” Cullen said. And then he grinned.

She burst out laughing. “You’re the best, Cullen.”

He smiled at her, something softening his amber eyes. 

She saw it, unconsciously bringing her fingers together, twisting them around each other. She felt that weird suffocating feeling again, welling up in her chest. She coughed into her shoulder. “Why do they call you Commander Cullen? Why not your last name? I thought was how the military worked or whatever.”

Cullen smiled. “It was personal preference for me. I was Knight-Captain Rutherford in Kirkwall. I…didn’t want to be that here.”

“I….heard a lot of the bad things that happened in Kirkwall…I only passed through afterwards. You…” she fidgeted, trying to figure out what she was attempting to say, “…it was bad there. You did everything you could.”

Something painful flickered through Cullen’s eyes. He glanced away. “I…I should have done more. I should have—”

“You did everything you could, Cullen. I spoke to people in Kirkwall when I was there.”

Cullen glanced down at her, seeming a bit uncertain and then he took a deep breath. “So—what were you doing in Kirkwall?”

“I was trying to find the Black Emporium.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. That old guy is creepy. He’s funny though.”

“Why were you at the Conclave?” Cullen asked, gesturing for her to walk with him through Haven. 

“I….” she hesitated, looking down at the glittering snow and then up as the main gates opened and they headed towards the practice area. “I…was looking for someone.”

“A member of your clan?” Cullen asked, going to his tent flap and holding it open.

“Ah—no—I actually didn’t know they were there until I showed up.” She hesitated and then went into the tent, inclining her head as he held the flap away. “Thank you.” 

“How did you even get in?” Cullen asked, letting the flaps close behind him. He walked over to his supplies.

She knelt down to rebuild the fire. “I knew someone who was working security. And I was really curious, so I snuck in.”

“That is an astounding coincidence,” Cullen told her, pouring melted snow into a kettle and setting it over the coals.

“Right? No one will believe it—they assume I was there for my clan.”

“But you’d left your clan, right? Why did you leave?”

“Oh. They. Wanted me to learn to control nugs. I opted out and left. I was supposed to be the Keeper’s apprentice but, as hard as this might be to imagine, I had difficulty taking orders.”

Cullen laughed, setting two mugs down and scooping tea into each one.

“What about you?” she asked, watching him as he checked the kettle’s temperature with his fingers before picking up the pot to pour hot water.

“After Kirkwall, I was done with the Templars. I met Cassandra there and she offered me a place in the Inquisition. I no longer trusted the Chantry or the Templars—the Inquisition seemed to be the only thing that might bring an end to the war.” Cullen offered her a mug and dusted off a pile of leathers that were covering up a bench in front of the fire. 

She took the mug, letting it warm her fingers and sat down when he gestured to the bench. He sat beside her. Here they were again. He was so warm. And the sandalwood was fainter but still present. Templars and Seekers had a very particular scent—unlike mages, whose seemed to vary. Solas’ magic smelled like metal and pepper. Vivienne smelled like caramel. Seekers always smelled like dark cherries, tart and sour. Templars smelled like sandalwood. Grey Wardens had a kind of sickly-sweet smell. Perhaps because the Blight was rotting them from the inside? How did that work exactly? 

“I’ve run from Templars a few times—but I haven’t had a lot of interaction with them otherwise,” Izzy said to her mug. “What were Templars really like? Or—maybe what were they supposed to be like?”

“They were supposed to serve. Magic is dangerous—though I suppose it looks different when Templars are coming after you.”

“Well, I’m an apostate, after all. This is the first time since I left my clan that I’ve ever been able to carry a staff so openly. It’s really weird. I’m used to the snide comments about my ears and my face—but it’s kind of funny to watch the Templars here eye my staff and not be able to do anything about it.”

“Do you get a lot of comments about your ears and your tattoos?”

Izzy shrugged. “I’m used to it. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Josephine will want to know that. They shouldn’t be making those comments—or showing that kind of racism. You’re the Herald—you saved us—the Inquisition should give you its utmost support.”

Izzy glanced up at him. “Oh. I. Oh.”

“Were any of them recruits? If you point them out to me, I will be sure to educate them.”

Izzy laughed. “You don’t need to do that, Cullen.”

“I’m serious.”

She saw how his gaze shifted to something fiercer, darker. “Cullen, I…um. I’m—“

The flap to the tent opened and Cassandra walked in. “Cullen—we’re ready. Herald, we’re going to Therinfal to get the Templars and try to reason with Lord Seeker Lucius.”

“Aw, we get to visit Potato Face. Ah, poor Potato Face.” She stood up, trying to gulp down the rest of her tea and burning her tongue. She fanned her mouth.

Cullen chuckled at her. “It’s all right.” He gently touched her mug, skimming her fingers, and took the mug, setting it aside. “Go get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Izzy looked up at him. “I—haha—right. And. Thanks—for the tea. Again. I owe you one. Now I have to make tea for you some time.” And then she turned and fled the tent before she could say anything else embarrassing.

Cassandra raised her eyebrows at Cullen.

The commander looked aside. “It’s not a good idea.”

“No, it’s not,” Cassandra agreed, tone neutral.

“I didn’t mean to….I just.” He shook his head to himself. He sighed. “I should stay away from her.”

“Or maybe you shouldn’t.” Cassandra gave him a ghost of a faint half-smile and turned around, leaving him alone in the tent. 

 

 

 

Therinfal was like a rambling castle, beautiful in a nostalgic sort of way. Or maybe it was just compared to her living with the Dalish, where they were subjected to every hazard of the elements. So stone walls looked great no matter what kind of shape they were in.

What a clusterfuck the whole place ended up being. From Lord Potato Face grabbing her by her collar and jerking her into him and then finding herself in some kind of dream or illusion? It reminded her a lot of the Fade—but not quite right.

“Oh,” said the Lord Seeker’s voice. “You were not at the Conclave with your clan, were you? Who were you looking for?”

Izzy went still, trying to close her eyes and focus on locking him out of her thoughts. 

He was _strong_ and he’d had time to grow inside the Lord Seeker. Some kind of demon, no doubt. “I will know you. Intimately. There is no limit to what I could accomplish as _you_.”

“Isadora,” Cullen’s voice caressed her ear.

She jerked back, eyes opening. “Ah, shit.” She looked away from the Commander, trying not to make eye contact.

“Do you want him?” Leliana asked, appearing in the shadows. “Won’t that interfere?” She drew a knife, sliding up behind Cullen. “Isadora?”

She didn’t look at them. The elf kept her eyes down, trying not to hear the gurgle of blood, the soft whisper of her name as Cullen fell to his knees. 

“Who were you looking for at the Conclave?” Josephine asked softly. “Why were you there?”

Izzy tried to clear her thoughts again so he couldn’t pull them out. 

But around her, the room changed to a stone one. There were no windows, just a large stone tomb in the center. On top of it, stood a tiny sandstone wolf. 

“What is this?” Leliana asked, sliding spectral fingers over the stone animal. “Not a trinket. Not your statue. It was in a tiny temple. A shrine. Yes?”

She saw herself creeping in, standing before the little statue and placing down a tiny wreath made of scraps of cotton and muslin. 

“But why? Why? Why is this important?” The demon demanded. “Why? Show me! Show me now!”

Izzy tried to clear her mind again but it was like air stolen from her lungs when her younger self cried out softly, staggering back when the wolf’s eyes started to burn. Glowing green. She knew what that meant. It meant _he_ was awake. Somewhere, out in the world, the Dread Wolf was awake—

“Ah, did Razikale send you to this place? Are you an agent of an old god? Not to worry—whatever you hunted for—the only god you need concern yourself with is the Elder One.”

Izzy took a deep breath, looking down again. Focus on nothingness, try to make the images collapse—

“Izzy…” she felt the barest brush over her shoulder and whirled around, staggering back a few steps. The scent of sandalwood drifted over her and she suddenly felt Cullen’s warmth behind her. His hands slid up her spine to cup the side of her throat while he leaned in, mouth tracing lightly over the other side. 

“Why bother looking for the Dread Wolf?” Cullen asked softly, as the war table appeared in front of Izzy. “He’s a relic, an idea from a worse age. He likely never existed.”

She felt Not-Cullen’s hands slide around her waist.

“As you, I can have everything I want. Power, strength, _desire_ from him. I will make him. Men are weak.”

“Cullen would never do that,” Izzy said flatly, glaring at the stone wolf. “He doesn’t follow blindly.”

“He will. For you.”

“Cullen is his own man. He wouldn’t.”

“Such confidence.”

“I know him better than _you_.”

“Are you sure? Are you sure I could not _tempt_ him? You look at him. He looks at you.” Not-Cullen turned her around, pushing her down onto the war table, a hand trailing up her thigh. “I could _make_ him—“

Izzy slammed her boot into his gut. Not-Cullen staggered back. She leapt up to dash away from him. Envy chased her.

“What drove you from your clan, _da’len_?”

Her Keeper appeared before her. 

“Surely not to search for the Dread Wolf? Why would you hide from that?”

_Of all the things to hide, one like that could be important or not at all. It’s up to you, if you give it enough importance for Envy to hurt you with._

Izzy froze amidst the fog and stench of death. “Who’s there?”

It was a sing-songy voice, beckoning from another room. 

When he appeared, she jumped. “Who the hell are you!”

“I’m Cole,” said the strange boy.

“….are you a…demon?”

Whether he was or not didn’t actually seem to matter. He was strange but…didn’t seem to want to harm her. And in the end, he helped her get out. But then she couldn’t find him again afterwards. When she found herself back in the Real, with Cassandra holding her up, she immediately asked Solas if he’d seen the young man. But no one had. 

All in all, she hadn’t expected Therinfal to go well, but she certainly hadn’t expected it to go so _badly_. The nightmares that plagued her all the way back to Haven had her so on edge that she just stopped sleeping. When they finally got back to Haven, she went to her quarters and crashed.

When the advisers asked Cassandra what had occurred, the Seeker could only guess. “She told us that she saw a young man in her head—and that Envy tried to hurt her with….images. Of us, I believe. But she would not repeat what she saw. She spoke in her sleep—before she simply stopped sleeping—she wouldn’t say much that was coherent. But she spoke about you, Leliana and you, Cullen.”

“What did she say?” Leliana asked.

“Not very much—just…yelling for someone not to hurt you,” she nodded to Cullen. “She would start to thrash and fight—and I’d wake her.” 

Leliana looked sidelong at Cullen. “Perhaps you should speak to her then.”

Cullen looked startled. “I. Me? Why would I….” He looked away, trailing off a bit. “Is she…all right?”

And then the door opened, stopping that conversation as the Herald herself entered. “Hey kids,” she said, almost overly casual. “I imagine you need a report from me. And also, you need to meet Cole.”

“Who?” Josephine asked.

Izzy looked behind her. “Ah—hey. Where’d you go?” She glanced at the advisers. “He just appeared in my quarters—scared the shit outta me. But he’s friendly so—“

There was a puff of air and the boy appeared on the table. Despite the warning, Cullen and Cassandra still drew their swords. Izzy jumped forward to get between them. “Wait! Wait! Shit! I said he’s okay! He helped me!”

The boy climbed down from the table. “You are Cullen. She saw you, in her head.”

Cullen looked at Cassandra and then raised his eyebrows at Izzy.

“Cole,” Izzy said grumpily. 

“That alone is not incriminating,” Cassandra said, dismissively--in an attempt to be encouraging.

“Unless she saw something she’d rather us not know about,” Leliana threw in, smirking.

“Ahhhh! You guys are jerks!” Izzy accused, pointing at Leliana sternly. 

The spymaster and Josephine laughed, the Ambassador covering her mouth with her handkerchief.

“We can head out to seal the Breach tomorrow or the day after,” Cassandra attempted to get them back on track.

“Okay, great. Going to the tavern. Bye.” Izzy wheeled around, flailing her hands.

Cullen sighed at them when the Herald left. “Really?”

“You’re like our little brother, Cullen,” Leliana snarked.

“Thank you, Mia,” Cullen groused.

“Oh, she already knows.”

“What!” Cullen cried out, wheeling around sharply to look at Leliana. 

Cassandra snorted and Leliana started to laugh. “I’m joking, Commander.”

Cullen scowled. “…..I hate you all. So much.”

Suddenly, Cassandra perked. “Where did the young man go?”

“Who?” Josephine asked.

 

 

 

So Templars helped them seal the Breach and boy did _that_ piss somebody off. Some big ugly motherfucker called Corypheus—seriously, Corypheus? Oh, and a goddammit fucking mothershitting _dragon_. What the fuck! _Seriously?!_

“Holy shit!” 

“Oh, shit,” Varric echoed.

“Maker have mercy.”

“Well,” said Solas. “We should probably go back inside the gates.”

The four of them looked at each other and then a blast of fire exploded next to them. 

“All right! All right!” Izzy said, flailing with her hands and staggering up. She nearly crashed into Solas, skidding on wet mud to whip around and help him up. She laughed wildly as they careened on the snow, scampering into Haven’s gates.

“Why are you laughing!” Varric shouted to her.

“This is fucking crazy!” Izzy answered as they skidded to a stop inside the Chantry. “I mean, how did this day get _weirder?_ ”

A half hour later, something exploded near the last trebuchet and it threw all of them off their feet. But when they tried to stagger up—the others found their limbs bound, paralyzed. 

“Solas!” Izzy cried out—but too late, the strange strings of power latched onto him.

The mage jerked back. “Ah—it’s—“ He spun his staff but before he could strike—another line of power curled around his other arm. Izzy shot forward, swinging her staff and then—

Her Mark burst hot and sudden. Her eyes were burning hot. The power flooded her, tearing through her. Pain followed instantly, taking her to her knees. The others were thrown, blasted away by whatever the strange power had been that held them.

The red asshole, who was built like a bunch of evil snowballs thrown at a scarecrow until something stuck, started ranting and raving at her. He threw her from him and she didn’t wait for him to come at her again. She jumped up, flexed out her palm and _pulsed_. The trebuchet launched and she immediately fade-stepped. It didn’t help—but she did _try_ to run, laughing at the absurdity of it all. 

She had no fucking clue how she woke up again. But she did. She was covered in blood and bruises but nothing seemed broken. Amazing. How did she have the worst luck ever but also the best luck ever?

She recanted that statement when she got out into the snow storm. At least if she’d broken a limb, the pain would let her know she was still alive.

“What a stupid way to lose my right ear—I better not lose my right ear. There will be no frostbite on this walk—where the _fuck_ am I going!”

Like a warm little lantern, she saw a pinprick of light through the snow. That was the only thing she could follow, maybe a star? Or a planet? A candle wouldn’t last in this wind and even if it could—no candle could be lit for the amount of time she walked. Right? Time was slipping away. Dark of night was bitter, so cold that it was hard to breath. She followed the needlepoint of light, sewing the constellations together when the snow finally abated. Then it was staggering, dots of light blurring together, only able to hear her own stilted, wheezing breath. It was too loud in her ears. Everything else muted and fuzzy. Everything except the hoarse sound of her breathing and the pinprick of light that had become large and swirling. Like an orb. An orb of red and golden light, swirling and curling around her, guiding her through the snow, turning green and blue and gold. It cracked. Then went dark.

So did everything else.

She couldn’t see for a long time. Heard footsteps and a shout. The scent of sandalwood flooding over her senses, strong arms covering her with something and holding her close. There were shouts, a growling rumble next to her ear and suddenly the breeze was gone and things were muted.

She saw a pinprick of light, slowly getting larger until she realized she was looking at a candle. 

Izzy jumped, startling into awareness. 

“You’re all right,” Cullen said, gently grabbing her shoulder to stop her from sitting up. “You’re with us. You’re safe.”

“Cullen!” She grabbed onto his arm.

“It’s all right,” he repeated, sliding his hands to her back. It pulled her closer, unconsciously perhaps, making both of them feel more secure when she put her other hand on his chestplate.

“I had terrible dreams,” she burst out. “Where—where are we?”

“We don’t know,” he said gently and then blinked curiously. Looking into her eyes, he realized she wasn’t really seeing him. She might even still be asleep. “But Corypheus hasn’t found us, so we’re safe for the moment. Just rest.”

“Cullen,” she repeated, fingers grabbing tightly into his shirt. Her eyes were still empty and vacant. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m….” she reached up, gently touching the side of his face. And then they slid away, her eyes closed and she was out again.

Cullen felt her go limp and released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He gently lowered her to the sheets and reached out to brush her hair away from her face. He swallowed hard.


	3. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen/Lavellan  
> \--------------------  
> Cassandra allowed a small smile. “She was up in the keep this morning, demanding to know why the Commander’s quarters were in such a state of disrepair. I believe it is safe to say that she is about to become very invested in your well-being.”

Getting to Skyhold was an ordeal. She kept touching her right ear, as if to make sure it was still there. By the time they were getting set up and Cassandra was declaring her the Inquisitor—she felt like she was standing still and everything was rushing into place around her.

The only thing that felt real was finding Cullen. He was no-nonsense, already planning a defense from Corypheus even as he learned what limitations Skyhold presented. He was a tactician, after all. He had an agile mind and robust experience. It was nice just to listen to him sometimes when he gave his orders and seeing how much their soldiers trusted him.

She knew she’d been delirious after they’d found her in the snow—but no one appeared to be treating her oddly because of it and she wasn’t quite brave enough to ask what she’d said just yet. She must have said something strange—if only from the way Cullen looked at her when she approached him. It wasn’t odd, per se…but something more searching, like….concern.

They’d been so careful around each other this whole time, stumbling over their words and trying to figure out what they were feeling. But when he said, _You stayed behind, you could have died…._

She shifted in place, some of the tension in her shoulders easing and her eyes widened just a hair. She would do something about this. She would. Not here—not here in front of his soldiers or whoever. Later. Yes. But she would. She was going to do something about this. She hated not knowing for sure. It was far too stressful. 

So she waited until late in the evening before she showed up at his office. Candles were still burning in the window and when she knocked, he called out that the door was open.

She turned the knob and peeked in.

He was leaning over his desk, shuffling some reports. He did a slight double-take at her presence. “Inquisitor,” he said, putting down his stack of papers. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m—I’m fine. Um.” She twisted her fingers together. “Um. Are you—busy? I can come back later?”

“No—no!” Cullen said quickly, coming around his desk. “What can I do for you? Do you need something?”

“I—no—I just…” she scratched her fingers through her hair. “Um. I just wanted. To. Talk to you—a little—um. If I could?”

“Of course,” he answered. 

She felt the weight of his gaze suddenly. She glanced aside. “Um. All right. So. Um.”

_Just get it over with. Once he refuses, I’ll be able to move on. It’ll stop being awkward and I can go back to telling terrible jokes at him without getting all tripped up._

“Cullen…um—all right. I’m a mage—of course. I mean, duh. You know that. Haha.” She coughed into her shoulder. “I—just—“ she took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m seeing things or if I’m actually noticing something. I just—sometimes—I think maybe you might….you know…um…”

“Care for you?”

She felt her gut tense up and a wave of adrenaline crested over her eyes, making her dizzy with the force of it. She swallowed hard, looking at him under her hair. “If I’m wrong—I understand,” she said quickly. “I—I just don’t want to see things that aren’t there. I’m sorry, I—“

“No, no—don’t apologize. Uh—I had wanted to initiate this conversation myself. But you beat me to it.”

That took her about three full seconds to process. “Wha—really?”

“Yes,” he said awkwardly, fiddling with a candlestick before moving it from his desk to the window sill. He came around his desk again, approaching her. “I….didn’t want to scare you off by saying something too soon. But I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it to myself.”

“Oh…so—so I’m not just…seeing things?”

“No, you’re not,” Cullen told her.

Relief flooded her, making her weak in the knees. She touched his bookcase to steady herself. “Ha…I, I was so nervous…”

“I was afraid to ask,” he said, at the same time. “We’re in the middle of a war and you’re the Inquisitor.” He stepped into her space. She stepped back automatically, her spine connecting gently to his bookshelves. He watched something hazy and dark go through her eyes when he advanced on her, when he stood over her, when a hand braced itself on the shelves and the other reached out, gently touching the swell of her hip.

“Cullen…” she said softly, raising a shy hand and gently touching the warm metal of his chestplate. 

He grabbed her up, pulling her into him, mouth connecting to hers harsh and jarring. She gasped softly and grabbed into his sleeves, pulling him closer. One of her hands slid up, cupping his neck and then sifting into his hair, grabbing hold of the strands between her fingers. One of his large palms stayed at her jawline, the other slid down the small of her back and he kissed her again before he shuddered and broke it. “I’m sorry—I—was that—“

“Yes,” she answered swiftly and pulled him down to her again. His fingers went to her hips, kneading each side almost tight enough to bruise. It was such a relief. Finally. Finally, after five months of waiting and nervously wondering and making an idiot of herself. She felt one of his hands slide up her side and he shifted, kissing the side of her neck. She heard one of his books fall—they both ignored it. One of his hands tangled in the collar of her cloak. He unclasped the pin holding it and let it fall somewhere. He pulled the cloak off of her, tossing it aside. She took a cue from that, getting her fingers into the hook and clasps connecting his mantle to his armor. She took a step forward into him, almost tripping on her discarded cloak—making both of them laugh a little, still somewhat nervous. 

Cullen took a step back, leading her towards his desk. She pushed him back to sit on the edge so she could remove his cloak and mantle. It let her examine his armor up close, see all the little scars from training, the notches from combat. It was so warm from his skin. He helped get the mantle off, laying it aside on the floor and he watched her, somewhat bemused as she undid the ties in his armor and gently removed his chestplate. “Are you sure you exist under all this metal?” She asked.

He chuckled and put the armor aside. He hesitated and then took her hand, bringing it to his shirt. “It’s warm, right? There must be skin there.”

“There is…” she agreed and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him. 

He grabbed her by the hips, pulling her up into his lap and finally let his hands explore without reserve. He could touch all the soft curves and hard muscle. She made a barely-there sound when he finally touched a breast, very lightly and carefully, attentive to any negative reaction. Her nipple hardened under his palm almost immediately, making something dark and hazy go through his eyes. He grabbed her up, spinning around and sitting her down on his desk. His fingers went to the buttons of her shirt, opening them in a hurry and skimming fingers over her skin. He kissed her throat again, feeling how her spine arched into him. Her fingers grabbed into his hair again, pulling him to her. 

He knelt over her on his desk, hands gliding up into her hair, pulling out the pins so he could run his fingers through it. Their mouths met. He felt amazing. His weight was warm, heavy and solid and she wanted that so badly. So much more than she could admit to herself. She brought a knee up to his side, his thigh between hers. They ground together, which made both of them jolt, interrupting a kiss. They breathed each other in, his mouth brushed hers, skimming over her cheek before renewing the kiss, pressing in hard and deep. His hands pulled at her shirt, getting it completely open and touching her skin directly. 

A small sound escaped her throat, spine arching up. He slid his hands to her spine, pushing up at her skin, feeling her fingernails dig into him.

“Would you…like to go upstairs?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Getting up the ladder was a struggle. Separating from him was hard. He got up, pulling her to her feet, pulling her close to him and feeling the soft curves of her press against him. He urged her to the ladder, hands straying on her hips until she was a few rungs above him. At the top, she got up, holding her shirt together and turning around to face him as he came up the ladder. He closed the hatch cover and then his eyes took on a renewed determination. No fear, no uncertainty. He came at her, swift and sure, cupping her jaw and kissing her again, harder. His hands grabbed into her shirt, working it off, pushing away the straps of her undershirt and tossing it to the floor. Her fingers scrambled at his shirt buttons, uncoupling them as he urged her back. At the bed, he picked her up and laid her out on it. She held onto him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. Cullen's arms were thick with muscle, warm and solid. They met in the middle, somehow, mouths pressing together. His hand cupped a breast while the other worked her belt off. The muscle in her abdomen twitched and he smoothed his whole palm over the muscle to relax it. He heard her shudder, feeling all the tension and stress in her limbs, in her voice, in the soft sounds she made. In the way her breasts perked into his hands, needy, wanting. 

“When I was in Therinfal,” she said suddenly, voice shaky. “The Envy demon tried to copy your shape—to tempt me. To…and I wasn’t sure what was real when I came out of it. Until I saw you at Haven…I wasn’t sure if you were alive or not.” She carded her fingers through his hair. “I was afraid I would come back and find out something terrible had happened to you. It was so real...”

Cullen looked down at her, gently running his fingers through her hair. “When I had to leave you behind in Haven…I was certain I’d never see you again. When Cole felt your presence in the mountain and we found you…” 

She leaned up, kissing him hard and fast, pressing up into him. She urged him onto his back, kneeling. The mage straddled one of his thighs, loosening his belt and pulling it off. She swallowed hard, fingers stuttering over the laces of his trousers. She heard him make a soft, uncertain sound—but she didn’t look at him. She coiled her fingers in the laces and opened them. 

Hard, defined lines made their way from his abdomen down his thighs. She took another breath, feeling how it was stilted with nerves. But his skin was warm as she skimmed her fingers along the ridges of bone and muscle. His cock was thick and heavy, pulsing with blood. She touched him. Every muscle in him tensed and he bit down on his lip. 

She glanced at him. “….are you….all right?”

Cullen nodded. “It’s….been some time. I—“ he breathed in sharply when she wrapped her fingers around him. 

Her strokes were slow, leisurely. She knew some of what he’d been through, knew that trust was difficult for him. _I’m safe. I’m safe. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you. No monsters, no one will hurt you._ Izzy leaned over him, kissing him gently. She felt his cock twitch in her hand and he grunted. “Cullen—“

He grabbed her and flipped them, fingers curling into her trousers and pulling them off of her. He leaned down to her breastbone, nipping along the ridges to get to her breast. He took the peak between his lips, sucking as he let his hands slide down to cup her hips. And then lower, slowly and gently brushing between her thighs. He heard her smother a gasp—but it hardly mattered. She was _wet_. She was so hot and slick because of _him._

“Cullen,” she breathed.

He nudged her thighs apart, settling in between them. He cupped her hips again, urging them up on either side of his. He rubbed the hot flesh, soothing and warm. He could feel how slick she was. It was on his skin. He could nearly smell it. She was on fire with how badly she wanted him. He leaned down to kiss her, feeling her fingernails bite into his shoulders as he lined himself up and slowly eased inside of her. She couldn’t smother the high, soft moan that escaped from her. Her spine arched, taking him in deeper. He groaned, resting his forehead on her shoulder until he was fully seated.

Cullen blinked hard through the haze. It was so hot inside of her. Hot and tight and…he shuddered. “Izzy—“

“It’s all right,” she breathed, head tipping back against his pillow. “It’s…Cullen…. _oh_ …” 

Cullen breathed, harsh and grating. He pulled back and then sank into her again. He started slow, letting her get used to the movement until he felt her shift to meet him. His fingers tightened into her, grunting and moving harder, more deliberate, until he had to let go of her breast. He braced his hands on either side of her head and then leaned down to her. Their mouths met, exchanging heavy breaths, gasps of air and a biting kiss. He scooped his hands under her, one supporting the back of her head and the other on her thigh as he moved, shifting and then—

Her eyes shot open and her whole body clutched around him-- _that_ spot, that place—he shifted to keep himself there, dragging his cock against it. He watched her face turn hot and heated again, her fingernails dragging over his shoulders, breathing in the scent of him at his throat. 

And then she bit him. 

Not hard—but enough that he jerked, unable to completely smother the surprised sound and the bolt it shot down to his abdomen. The commander's restraint withered, shifting, dragging, moving harsh and thrusting inside of her, wet and slick and heated. He could feel her tensing up, could feel his cock swelling, plunging into her core and then he grabbed her wrists, pinning her down. She arched into him again and he pressed deeper, feeling her keen into him and her eyes roll back. She clutched around him and he groaned as he came, flooding her heat with his own. 

He sunk down on top of her and she held him, stroking his hair soothingly. She huffed on a laugh. “I didn’t know the roof was—had holes in it,” she managed breathlessly, looking up at the stars through the roof of his room. 

He stirred a little but she kept holding him against her, stroking his hair. She kissed his temple and reached out, grabbing a corner of a quilt and pulling it towards them. He leaned up on one elbow, grabbing it and pulling it over the two of them and then he relaxed into her again, nose tracing along her cheekbones. He was solid and warm, quiet and safe. They curled up around each other.

 

 

 

Given the sly looks and smirks Cullen got from his sergeants the next day, he knew immediately that there would be no keeping it a secret. (Leaving her cloak and his strewn on the floor of his office, along with everything that had been on his desk, probably hadn't helped.) Not that he was ashamed—just private. Cassandra showed up in his office at around noon. She crossed her arms but didn’t look angry. She examined him.

“What?” Cullen sighed.

“Nothing is wrong, Cullen.”

“I suppose you’ve heard. These soldiers gossip like schoolchildren.”

“I only come to you to say that you have suffered, Cullen. And so has she. Take your happiness where you can.”

Cullen looked at Cassandra, opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. He nodded, looking down at the top of his desk.

“Besides, this is the most relaxed I’ve seen you in months.”

That made Cullen snort on a laugh.

“Does she know about the lyrium?”

Cullen glanced up again and shook his head.

“You should tell her, Cullen.”

Cullen took a bracing breath. “How do you think she’ll react?”

Cassandra allowed a small smile. “She was up in the keep this morning, demanding to know why the Commander’s quarters were in such a state of disrepair. I believe it is safe to say that she is about to become very invested in your well-being.”

Cullen blinked and looked down, awkwardly shifting on his feet. 

“I know you are not used to that, Cullen—but it might do you good to try.”


	4. Motivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen/Lavellan
> 
> \---------------------------  
> Because the first time Cabot said that line to me, I was ready to whip his ass but the game doesn't let you.
> 
> And the first time I ran into Trifles Minutiae in the Inquisitor's closet, he scared the shit out of me. I wasn't expecting him to be there. I didn't even know who he was. I'd never seen him before. I was like: HTF did you get in here!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, Dorian talks about camping in the Hinterlands: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7T7hFOp38WE

"I believe we should--Cullen?" Josephine said.

Izzy glanced up--meeting his eyes entirely unintentionally. Because he was staring at her, like he was trying to peer into her skull

"Cullen."

"Huh--oh, yes?"

Izzy looked down again uncertainly and then glanced sidelong at Cassandra, who appeared to be fighting a very faint smirk.

Her shoulders stiffened a little and she scowled to herself. She wished her stupid ears would stop burning. There was no keeping secrets around here—as the Inquisitor, her life and all the people in it were now discussed like a dish at a party. All the advisers knew anyway and probably the whole inner circle. The soldiers spread gossip like wildfire and one of the bards was already writing a song about the wayward elven Inquisitor and the ex-Templar Commander. It was all very star-crossed and dramatic. Izzy wasn’t exactly surprised by it all—but she wasn’t quite prepared for the interest and scrutiny either. After all, Cullen could do better. She was lucky just to be here.

The snide remarks still came occasionally, culminating when Cabot—the tavern keeper—said there were complaints about her finding time to bed her allies.

“I don’t judge,” he’d said, “much. Just that it makes the commander look bad.”

She stared at him for a solid five seconds in stunned silence, going cold all over. And then she reached out and grabbed him by the collar. She yanked him up to the counter and she leaned over to whisper, “Will you judge more or less if I slit your fucking throat right here?”

He squirmed, trying to loosen her grip.

She wrenched him towards her, pulling him on top of the counter. A few soldiers at the bar became very still, watching them. “I don’t see what fucking business it is of yours who I spend my rare time with when I’m not closing rifts or trying to figure out how I’m going to kill a psychotic darkspawn magister with a grudge against me. Unless you’d like to talk to the commander about it? Last I checked—you didn’t have a Fade-mark that took your whole life and fucked it inside out. So any time you’re ready to judge me—come by. I’m sure I can spare some time to stripe you up if you disrespect the commander like that again. I’m used to petty fucking racism from dwarves, humans, qunari and even other elves. But don’t you dare disrespect our commander unless you’re ready to bring it to his attention. Are you ready to do that?”

Cabot’s eyes were startled, looking at the three soldiers sitting silently at the bar and then back at the Inquisitor. “No, ma’am,” he said.

She threw him back over the counter. “Then keep your fucking mouth shut.”

Cabot swallowed hard, straightening his collar. “You asked me, Inquisitor.”

“I asked the mood of the soldiers. You gave me your personal opinion because apparently you believe every piece of gossip you’ve ever heard. I know people are going to say terrible things about me, regardless. But the least I can ask in my own damn stronghold is that you show some basic goddamn respect towards our commander. Is that clear?”

Cabot looked at her, glanced at the soldiers again and then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She looked to her right. “There some reason he keeps looking at you three?”

The three soldiers looked at each other and shook their heads quickly. “Nope,” said one. 

“We respect you and the commander, Inquis--ma'am," said the second.

"Yeah. Uh. You saved our lives at Haven, Inquisitor. Or. Ma'am. Whichever you prefer," said the third

“None of our business—but he has seemed happier lately, ma'am.”

Izzy blinked, caught off guard for a second in surprise that Cullen seemed happier to his soldiers. _Because of me…?_

“We don’t care that you’re an elf, Inquisitor. And, nothing but respect for Commander Cullen."

"And we, uh, we like that you do too.” The third looked at the other two, a little nervously

Izzy reached into her pocket and pulled out a fistful of coin. “Here. Drink on me. Thank you.” She turned around, taking a step and jerking to a stop.

“Boss,” said Iron Bull, who was standing about three feet in front of her. 

“Iron Bull,” she said, wondering if he’d been standing there the whole time.

“Come on, Boss—have a drink with me.” He gestured out, gently urging her to walk with him without touching her. 

Izzy followed him to the back corner, where he tended to hang out with Krem. His lieutenant poured some ale into a mug and slid it over to the Inquisitor when she sat down. For a moment, Izzy just looked at the tabletop, trying to get ahold of the adrenaline that was commanding her to get up and go kill Cabot.

“Y’all right, Inquisitor?” Krem asked, looking carefully at Iron Bull.

“That was pretty intense, Inquisitor. You looked ready to scalp him,” Iron Bull said, sounding amused. 

“I….” Izzy shook her head to herself. “I just…”

“He was blatantly disrespectful and you put him in his place. And Cullen’s soldiers being there is a happy coincidence. They’ll tell their friends how the Inquisitor was fiercely protective of their commander. They’ll respect you for that. And it’ll probably make them scared of you—but that’s not so bad.”

“I expected people to say things that are cruel or mean—just….just not like that. I guess. Not so blatantly. I went cold when he said that…and I just…” Izzy took a deep breath and then it just spilled out of her, “I know Cullen can….can do better—I’m not human _and_ I’m a mage and he’s—“

“Boss,” Bull said, voice quieter, “he seems to like you well enough. And it sounds like he was content to be alone until he met you. Try to relax. He doesn’t seem like the type to mess you around. And if he is, we kick his ass.”

She managed a half-smile and sighed. “Thanks, Bull.”

“Drink up—then go find him.”

Izzy looked up at the qunari under her hair.

“You need outlets, boss. If you pick one that makes you happy and you get attached to, even better.”

 

 

 

Once the adrenaline and the dizziness wore off, she got up and left the tavern. The sunlight was so bright up here with all the snow reflecting it off the mountains. She headed to the war room. Cullen was there alone. She shut the door behind her and leaned on it.

He did a slight double-take at her expression. “Are you all right? You look exhausted.” He came around the table.

“I—I’m sorry, Cullen. I lost my temper and yelled at someone today. I don’t—look, I just….I’m a Dalish elf and I’m a mage. And I know what people think—“

Cullen straightened. “Did someone insult you?”

She looked down at her boots. “I know that because I’m not human—I make you look bad—“

“What! Who said that?” 

“It’s just—people are going to say that—and I just—this isn’t a fling, right? This isn’t just…oh, I’m a Dalish elf and—but I’m the Inquisitor and so…this…if this is just some kind of dalliance for you—”

“No, no.” Cullen reached out, touching her shoulders. “Izzy.” He waited for her to look up at him. “I haven’t wanted anyone in my life in a long time. I didn’t expect to find this—you—here.” He brushed his thumb along the ridge of her right ear. “I don’t care what they say—or what anyone thinks. That you’re Dalish doesn’t mean much to me—you’re still you, regardless of where you come from. If it means something to you—then tell me and we’ll work it out.”

This whole acceptance bit was kind of scary. When she told him that he smiled gently and pulled her to his chest. “How badly did you threaten him? Or her? Whoever it was that said something to you?”

That made her laugh softly. “I told him I’d slit his throat.”

She felt Cullen’s laugh rumble deep in his chest. “Pretty serious, then. It wasn’t one of my soldiers, was it?” 

“No, it wasn’t.” She let her fingers curl into his cloak, and finally leaned on him a bit. “I’ll have to thank Iron Bull—he kept me from burning the tavern to the ground.”

Cullen turned, urging her to walk with him to the war table. He kept his hand, warm and light, on her spine as they looked over the maps. “You’re so cold,” he said. “Nerves?”

“Adrenaline, I guess,” she said.

“What did he _say_ to you?”

She glanced away. “It’s—I just…had a stronger reaction than I expected I would. It’s all right.” 

He loosened his cloak and drew her into his side, placing the heavy fabric over her shoulders and sliding his arm around her waist. That seemed to help her relax and she turned into him to embrace him. Cullen slid his fingers into her hair, gently holding her to him. That seemed to be what she needed. A little reassurance went a long way.

“Are you needed anywhere else today?” he murmured to her hair.

She shook her head.

“Then may I escort you to your chambers?”

The seriousness with which he asked made her chuckle softly. “I would be honored, ser Rutherford.”

He at least managed to get to the stairs before his touch became more possessive, rougher. By the time they made it to her room, he was dark-eyed with intent. His hands pulling her in, taking command as he pinned her to the wall. He caged her in with his arms and she arched into him almost immediately. He ducked his head, kissing at her throat and feeling how just that little thing had her tensing into him. She was starving for affection. 

He gently turned her to face the wall so he could kiss the back of her neck while his hands slid down her spine, cupping her waist and sliding around to meet under her ribs. He opened her belt, hearing her shudder when he slid a large, warm hand into her trousers. She was slick. Very slick. And he’d hardly touched her. He burned up like an alchemist’s fire inside when he slid his fingers against her, felt her gasp and her spine curve into him. Cullen leaned over her, the fringe of his hair touching the wall as he enveloped her with his warmth. His free hand slid up her abdomen, gliding over her breast until he could cup her throat, feeling her soft pants for air, a shaking moan when he pressed in harder against her. Izzy’s shoulders tensed, curling inward against the confines of his arms. Feeling her twist and writhe and how she tried to smother her gasps against him only made the commander pull her in tighter. Trapping her against him, running his nose along her jawline to her throat, he kissed her skin and the jumping vein he found there. He felt her whole body try to curl in when she came against his fingers. He slowed his strokes, gently working her through it and then held her to him. A bead of sweat rolled off of her throat, plinking onto his chestplate. His nose was buried in her hair, getting a lungful of her scent before he picked her up. He wondered briefly what her magic smelled like. Could she still smell the sandalwood scent that he’d been told Templars had?

He brushed the thoughts away for now. There were things to focus on. Like making a mage forget about all the pain for the moment, to take her troubles away for just a little while—as she had done for him.

 

 

 

Izzy woke several hours later, dusk was upon them, sending glittering golden light through her stained glass windows. It was a gorgeous thing to wake up to. Izzy was glad Cullen was still asleep because she had to take a moment to quiet the strange, overwhelmed feeling that suddenly wanted to sweep her up. Three years ago, she’d begun her journey. There had been many hardships, a lot of pain—and then the Conclave. Fuck, what had possessed her to go there. Just secrets, whispers that someone might be there. A possible connection to the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel. Whether or not it had been true—she hadn’t been able to confirm before the whole place went up in smoke. 

But now….now when she turned on her side and gazed at Cullen…

The human was splashed with colored beams of light. And also a bruised bite mark on his shoulder. He was so big and strong and handsome—like a prince from a fairy story, armor sparkling in the sunlight. What the hell was he going in here with _her_?

She wasn’t sure if she was still muddled by sudden awakeness, but the scent of sandalwood was fainter around him. Her fingertips gently traced the stubble on his jaw. A fierce, violent protectiveness bubbled in her belly. 

_No cold, no nightmares, no darkness. No one will hurt you._

She sat up when he made a soft sigh but he didn’t wake. The elf slid out of her bed and picked up a sheet, wrapping it around her under her arms. She looked at Cullen while she did it, just smiling gently at him as he slept. She hadn’t felt so peaceful and, well…..something like giddiness in a very long time. It made her chuckle to herself and go to the closet door, thinking maybe to light the coals under the stone bath. Have it ready and warm for him when he awoke—

She turned the knob.

For just a second, Izzy stared at the man in stunned silence.

The man stared back. He was standing in her wet room, next to her tub. “Inquisitor!”

Izzy yelped, staggering back from the door and nearly tripping over her sheet. She grabbed at it tightly. 

Cullen jumped awake at her yell, nearly falling off her bed and instantly grabbed his trousers to pull them on. “What!”

“What the _fuck_ are you doing in here, asshole?!” She demanded, holding her sheet tightly with one hand and pointing with the other. 

The man gazed at her, eyes seeming to pass over her without interest. “I am here to—“

And then Cullen reached the door. “What—who the hell are you!”

“How the hell did you get in here!” Izzy demanded.

Cullen did not give the man much chance to answer. He grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him out into the room. He pointed at Izzy. “Stay put,” he commanded.

Izzy blinked in surprise at Cullen but he turned away, pulling on his shirt. The strange man looked dazed and he didn’t get up nearly quick enough to dodge away from Cullen. The commander grabbed him by his arm and shoved him down the stairs. Cullen followed.

Izzy stared, staying awkwardly at the top of the staircase. She listened as Cullen drug the man downstairs and threw open the door to the Main Hall. The first unlucky servant he saw got called over with demands to bring the sergeant, the head of the Inquisitor’s security and Sister Leliana to tell him just how the _fuck_ this guy had gotten up into the Inquisitor’s private quarters.

“Oh, we know him, Commander,” said the sergeant, when he arrived. “Something’s wrong with him. Just walks around, asking everyone questions all the time.”

Leliana sounded like she was trying very hard not to laugh. “He’s harmless, Commander. He just likes to ask questions.”

Cullen grunted. “If he sneaks up there again, make him understand that I will rip his arms off and beat him to death with them.”

The sergeant fought back a snort.

“All right,” Leliana said calmly. 

Cullen slammed the door. 

Leliana and the sergeant looked at each other and they both burst out laughing.

Izzy fidgeted with the sheet when Cullen came back upstairs, hulking and grumbling like a bear. “Cullen, ah…haha, are you…all right?”

“Yes,” he grumped. “That man—whoever he was—better never appear up here again. Was he just standing in there?”

“Yes, like he was waiting for me to open the door.”

Cullen grunted and grabbed her, pulling her into him and scowling. “I know they’re laughing at me downstairs.”

Izzy looked up at him. “I’m not.” She smiled at him. “So you can just stay up here so you don’t have to listen.”

He chuckled a little. “I just….I don’t know. That made me very….”

She touched his chest. “I don’t mind.” Her eyes and smile were warm. “I would have done the same for you.”

He blinked, seeming a little startled. “I….”

She grabbed his wrists, gently bring his hands to her waist. His fingers curled into the sheet automatically. She let go of the fabric. It hung on her breasts for a moment and then slipped down to drape on his forearms. She raised her eyebrows at him.

He breathed in, eyes darkening into something more predatory. His fingers twisted into the sheet, dragging it up her spine and then letting it fall. It whispered over the curve of her hip. His palm followed, hooking under her thigh and tipping her back into his other hand when he took her down to the bed again.

She fought his shirt off, urging him onto his back. She traced her fingers down his chest, untying his trouser laces. His fingers were pressing into her thighs, eyes dark. He sat up, kissing at her collarbone, pulling her against him. She was wet, he could feel it when she straddled one of his bared thighs. She kissed his forehead, then his mouth, forcing his head to tilt back from her position above as her spine arched into his fingers. He breathed roughly against her skin, ducking down to get to a nipple, lathing his tongue against it before taking it in his mouth.

She moaned softly, shuddering against him. She had to push him back gently so she wouldn’t follow his hands as they pulled her hips inward. Izzy urged him onto his back, kissing his mouth, his throat, while her hand slid down to wrap her palm around him. He smothered a rough sound when she stroked him, sliding down his chest. He leaned up on one elbow and blinked at her when she looked up, meeting his eyes. She kept them on him when she wet her lips and opened her mouth, sliding over him.

She saw his eyes go wide. She’d never wanted to….to do this for anyone before. Just him. Just him. Her eyes darkened, shifting over him to take more in, sucking at him, rubbing her tongue against the tip of his cock. Her fingers slid around the base to stroke in rhythm as she bobbed her head. Once the initial self-consciousness wore off, once she heard him moan, unable to hold it back—she went deeper, breathing him in. 

He plunged between her lips but never too hard, he was trying so hard not to hurt her. Eventually, she might make him, so she could show him that she liked it—but for now, she swallowed around him. His cock was heavy with blood, starting to swell. She resisted when he made a soft sound, trying to pull her back. She didn’t let him. He came with a choked sound, fingers scrambling and then clamping onto her shoulder.

She worked him through it and then sat up on her knees. “My hero,” she smirked at him.

He stared up at her and then breathed in harshly through his nose, grabbing her by the hips and flipping her onto her back. 

 

 

 

“You know, Dorian, I try to picture you camping and all I get in my head is this mental image of you with your hair messed up, covered in burrs and running frantically from bears.”

Dorian tongued his cheek and nodded. “Yes, that’s about right. Terrible introduction to camping.”

“Okay, to be fair, that’s pretty much what we do too,” Varric said, opening up his hash pouch to offer some to the table at large.

“You sounded so proud of yourself though, Dorian,” Izzy grinned, taking out her pipe and thanking Varric with a nod before packing it.

“I learned all kinds of new skills by traveling like a common vagrant.”

“What about mustache protocol?” Sera asked, very seriously.

Dorian perked up, posing and then dramatically and slowly lifted a hand to his mustache, twirling the tip between his fingers. 

Izzy and Sera mimed twirling invisible mustaches at each other and then burst out laughing.

Cole suddenly appeared, stepping out of the air and making everyone jump.

“Hey, kid,” said Varric. “Have a seat?”

Cole fidgeted. “Maybe. I. Heard someone. And I had to look. It was Cullen. He needs you.”

Izzy startled, dropping her pipe on the table. “What?” She shoved her bench back. “What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“Nothing yet. But he needs you.”

Izzy searched Cole’s eyes and then turned away, dashing out of the hall.

“Boy, she was twinkle-toes to get out of here. Is he hurt bad?” Sera asked.

“No. He just needs her.” Cole sat down at the table with them.

“Mission go wrong?” Solas asked, who’d been pretending to read this entire time.

Sera and Dorian exchanged looks across the table.

“His mission. No one else’s. He’s trying very hard. He needs for her to know but he’s also. Afraid for her to know.”

“The lyrium?” asked Varric.

Cole nodded. 

Solas lifted an eyebrow curiously. “His lyrium?”

“He doesn’t take it anymore, Chuckles.”

Sera blinked. “Wh—he doesn’t? How’d you know that?”

Dorian cringed a little. “That does awful things to your templars, doesn’t it?”

“Then would not Cassandra be the more appropriate person to deal with his withdraw?” Solas asked, not missing a beat.

Cole looked at Solas. “No. Cassandra means well but she makes it. Too sharp sometimes. But Isadora—he’s quiet when she holds him.”

Everyone else caught the ripple of surprise that went over Solas’ face. He stared at the spirit. “I. I see.” He shrugged it off, looking back into his book.

Dorian and Sera exchanged eyerolls over the table again.

“Is that—everybody knows now, right?” Varric asked the table. “No one else is surprised? Chuckles was probably reading something and couldn’t be bothered to know.”

“I have little interest in the romantic gossip of her friends.”

Sera snorted. “Oh, so you’re too good to be our friend, eh? Too good for us?” 

“Once again, you misconstrue my motivations.”

“You _wish_ I gave two squirts about your motivations.”

“You protest too much.”

“Yeah, well you protest too little.”

Solas rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Can’t you elves just get along? I mean, of anyone here, you two should get along.”

“Why?” Solas asked dryly.

“You both hate other elves. For different reasons, yeah, but it boils down to the same shit.”

Solas looked up sharply from his book, staring at the dwarf.

Sera made a disgusted sound. “What the piss did I do to you today, dwarfy? Ugh.” She got up, huffing in annoyance and stalking off.

 

 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked. Her tone was gentle as she reached out, touching his side. 

“I….Cassandra is….going to watch me. I didn’t….I wasn’t exactly certain how you might react. I meant to tell you—you’re the Inquisitor. I should have told you. I—”

“Cullen,” she interrupted, touching his chest. “I’m just concerned—I want you to be all right. I will support you—you just have to tell me.”

“I didn’t want this to interfere….not with you, not with….”

“Are you in pain?”

“I can endure it.”

He felt her fingers twist into his shirt when he said that, soundless anxiety and worry. Afraid. Was she afraid for him….or was he more afraid that she would ask him to continue taking lyrium? He wasn’t sure he could refuse her if she asked him to. The Inquisition was so important but….but….he desperately wanted to break the leash holding him to the past. The Inquisition should always come first. It should always come first. It _had_ to come first. His petty wants did not—

“All right, Cullen.”

Her words cut through his thoughts.

“Just…keep me in the loop, all right? And if you have a bad day or pain—come tell me. I will help you—“

“You don’t need to—“

“I _want_ to, you idiot.” She reached up, gently touching his jaw.

Cullen looked at the floor uncertainly. “I….”

“Cullen, stay with me. Stay with me, now. Upstairs. Everybody knows now, anyway. Who gives a shit what they say or what they think?”

“You’re the Inquisitor—we—it’s not appropriate—“

She snorted. “You know what’s not appropriate? This stupid Mark. And that you haven’t learned yet that if you have a problem, you can come to me and I will help you. So now we’re gonna learn the fuck out of it, all right?”

He couldn’t seem to help but smile at her words. “I….thank you, Inquisitor.”

She lifted her eyebrows at him.

“Izzy,” he corrected and smiled. 

She embraced him tightly, burying her eyes in his shirt and breathing him in before she said, “Cole told me something was wrong. Ha, I knew—about halfway to you—I suddenly realized that…it hadn’t even been a thought. I was…ha, I left my pipe downstairs in front of everyone in the Main Hall and I ran out. I couldn’t think of anything else—just getting to you to see if you were all right. So—that was my sudden embarrassing personal revelation for the day. So don’t you dare not let me help—unless you’re not serious about this. And if that’s the case, you better say so right now.” 

“That’s not the case,” he said quietly. “It’s…I—“

“Then no need to feel bad.” She felt his arms tighten around her, burying his nose in her hair.


	5. Too Many Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know that will spread like wildfire around here. Soon it’ll be you stealing off with the Champion of Kirkwall to have a racy scandal with him and Curly.”
> 
> “Varric!” Cassandra and Izzy both exclaimed, at the same time.
> 
> Dorian smirked. “That sounds like a wonderful way to spend _every_ day for the rest of my life.”

“Where are we?” Izzy asked softly, gazing around at the conspicuously empty village.

“Haven,” Solas reminded her. 

“Oh….” she said softly. It was, she supposed. It didn’t seem quite right. There was something off about it. And about Solas too, really. He was gazing at her in that odd way he did sometimes, like he was trying to see passed her eyes. 

“Why _were_ you at the Conclave?” he asked her, as they stood in gently falling snow.

She frowned. “I…was looking for someone.”

“Who?” Solas asked her gently, quietly.

She tried hard to think but everything felt rather muddled. “Fen’Harel.”

His eyes twitched. He stared at her. “What?”

“Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf….to the Dalish.”

It seemed to take Solas a moment to process that. “You thought the Dread Wolf would be at the Conclave?”

“No….but…someone who knew him….maybe…” 

“Who would have known him at the Conclave?”

“….I don’t know,” she said softly. “Everything exploded before I could confirm….” She blinked hard. “This place….feels odd.”

“I imagine so. Why were you looking for Fen’Harel?”

“I….” she looked down at the snow. She tilted her head. “We didn’t leave any footprints.”

Solas kept watching her closely. “Were you trying to find those who might still worship him?”

“No…we….we were looking for him.”

“Who is we?”

“…..my…..my family. We had a shrine….a temple. We kept it. The eyes were always silent. For years and years, they were dark. Until almost three years ago.”

“You have been to the Fade—can you show me?” Solas carefully touched her mind. She still seemed lost in the dream-state. 

Haven dissolved and this shrine built itself from her head. He saw the small sandstone wolf with its glowing green eyes.

Flickers of images, elves telling her about the blood markings, directing her to smear her slashed palm on the tomb, in front of the small wolf statue. Time passed. The blood dried, faded, crackled. Until the day in winter when she entered, as she did every day to clean the stone and check the statue. Every day, nothing. From the time she appeared to be quite young, to when she was marked with her Vallaslin, blood running down her cheeks. To her crying out when the eyes lit up, burning through the dark. 

Izzy stared at the images. “These shouldn’t be here. These—this shouldn’t be here. I _can’t_ be here.”

“Izzy—stay calm.”

“No—I….I shouldn’t _be_ here.”

Solas frowned. “So this statue—it lit up and told you that Fen’Harel was awake?”

“That was supposed to be what it was…” Izzy looked around them, gripping tighter into her staff. “We shouldn’t be here. _You_ shouldn’t be here, Solas.”

Solas looked above her head. The shrine’s ceiling had vanished, turning into a clear sky and then darkening. The stars winked out. “Why?”

“I never wanted it,” she burst out. “Gods are fairy stories. But I was to watch the shrine in case the eyes glowed. And when they did—it meant I had to leave. My father watched before he died. My grandmother watched before she died.”

“To what purpose?” Solas asked.

“Stirring in the void, a whisper of magic, the spirits walk the worlds of the flesh and blood and some of them made their own.”

A strange shadow appeared next to her, forming a solid shape and then wearing it. Burning eyes peered out at Solas, looming over the Inquisitor. It had no name that he could discern and no face. Its aura was dark. But familiar. 

_Anaris…?_

Solas stared, watching his face emerge. The dusky skin and the brilliant golden eyes and wavy black hair. 

Izzy stared too, curiously. “He’s never had a face before.”

“Your bloodline was bound to a Forgotten One?”

Izzy looked distraught. “Yes….no one knows how or why…but we were. When we tried to forget…bad things happened….”

“Some say Anaris wished to kill Fen’Harel.”

“Yes…”

“Is that what you were supposed to do? To try and find Fen’Harel, in order to kill him?”

Izzy looked uncertain. “Maybe…but….so many terrible things have happened…”

Anaris vanished. Ghostly golden hands touched her shoulders, comforting. This shadow had no form beyond that but Solas could sense the intensity of feeling she directed towards it. It had to be Cullen.

“I want to…follow my own path…not theirs…”

He studied her as he glanced up. The sky appeared to be stabilizing. “So why Ghilan’nain?” He nodded to her _vallaslin_.

“She was supposed to be the one that Fen’Harel trusted. We were to be seen as a friend.” 

“Do you think Fen’Harel could be so easily tricked?”

“No. But it was tradition. That's just what they did. We watched the shrine and we waited and we were all marked by the Navigator to help us find the Dread Wolf when the time came.”

“What do you want instead?”

“My own life. Someone who cares about me. We don't know what happened or if the gods are even real. And what does it matter? It's not going to help us now. Yes, his spirit or whatever is awake somewhere. But I don't know where. I was supposed to wander until I found him.”

“Did they tell you how to recognize him?”

“No. There was nothing.” She sighed and looked down. 

“You should walk your own path, _da’len_ ,” Solas told her. He couldn’t seem to help himself when he reached forward, gently touching her face, raising her eyes to his own so he could see Ghilan’nain’s markings. “I see your spirit now…”

Her eyes sharpened. “What?”

“You….changed it...”

She blinked at him and then looked around suddenly. “How did we get here?”

Solas drew his fingers away. “Where?”

She eyed him. “You shouldn’t be here. Are we in the Fade?” She stepped back from him.

Solas glanced up, watching the cracks spider across the sky. “Think carefully. Where did you think we were?”

She looked away and then up, watching the sky crackle apart. Her dream appeared to be collapsing, turning back into Haven. “This isn’t real.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps it only depends on how much you remember when you _wake up_.”

She jerked, her whole body stiffening up. Her eyes flew open and she had to shake her fingers, curled so tightly into the sheet that they were white. She gasped for breath, trying to push herself up. Her arms were like jelly, collapsing almost immediately. She choked on a shaking sob. And then a warm hand cupped the side of her head and another grabbed her hip and pulled her over. 

“It’s all right,” his voice rumbled, warm and deep in her ear. He gently pulled her to his chest, enveloping her with his arms to tuck her in under his chin. “You’re safe,” he said softly. 

It took her several minutes to stop trembling. An exhausted sigh escaped her, pressing in as close to him as she could. And then she went limp in his arms, fading back into sleep. 

 

 

“So, Izzy—I, uh, have someone I need you to meet.”

The elf turned around from her perch at the window. “Varric, if it’s some guy who sells Divine’s Dust or plays cards for a living—I’m not losing all my money to you again.” 

“I said I wouldn’t do that again—it was just for keeping score! You shouldn’t have taken it so seriously. But really though—I managed to get ahold of someone who has dealt with Corypheus before.”

“Wha—really?” Izzy startled, eyes looking less-tired. “Here?”

“He just arrived last night. Why don’t you come up to the battlements—it, uh. He, uh—if he starts walking around it’ll make a fuss.”

“Haha, why? Is it King Alistair or something?”

“No, but…when you get up there, you’ll understand.”

She followed Varric up to the tower. On the top floor—everything had been cleared out, except for one thing. A person. Izzy’s mouth fell open.

“So….remember when we talked about former heroes getting in on this back in Haven?”

Izzy turned her head slowly to look at the dwarf. 

“May I reintroduce you to Hawke? This time, not from a distance.”

_Oh no. Oh no. If Varric told him what I said, I will cut him into tiny pieces and throw each piece through a different rift._

She took a deep breath and smiled. “It’s excellent to meet you, Hawke. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, smiling.

“Mostly just your beard.” _Awfuck! Why did I say that?!_

“Why do you always tell people about my beard?” Hawke huffed, wrinkling his nose at Varric.

“I can’t help it. It’s art.”

She coughed into her fist. “It’s—so, Varric says you know something about Corypheus?”

 

 

 

“I don’t think I will _ever_ get that image out of my head—“

“Shut UP, Varric,” Izzy groaned, putting her forehead in her hand.

Cassandra scowled at the dwarf. Sera burst out laughing. Dorian struggled to cover his laugh with his napkin.

“Eyebrows up to here and red as a beet with hero worship.”

“I hate you so much right now.” She was fighting an embarrassed laugh, face turning red again. Cassandra reached over and patted her shoulder consolingly. For some reason, this made Sera laugh twice as hard.

“You know that will spread like wildfire around here. Soon it’ll be you stealing off with the Champion of Kirkwall to have a racy scandal with him and Curly.”

“Varric!” Cassandra and Izzy both exclaimed, at the same time.

Dorian smirked. “That sounds like a wonderful way to spend _every_ day for the rest of my life.”

And then Izzy’s face flushed even brighter red when she apparently actually _thought_ about it. “ _Fenedhis_. Shut _up_ ,” she groaned, covering her eyes. 

“Hey, I only say that because the alternative is that they’ll say you ran off with Hawke, breaking Curly’s heart—“

“What!” 

The dwarf stopped cold, struck at her horrified expression. She was sitting up ramrod straight, eyes wide and bare in a way that seemed to indicate she had just realized the same thing. The color had drained from her face like she’d been submerged in icy water. “He wouldn’t….he doesn’t think that, does he?”

Varric stared at her. “I—no, I’m—wow, I’m sorry—“

“Cullen would not think that. He trusts you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said nobly. Then her head tilted. “Though, I would not blame him for worrying…Hawke is…..well….the Champion of Kirkwall and Varric did not lie about his beard. And—“

“Cassandra!” The inquisitor said, bursting out laughing. Her forehead plonked down on top of the table.

The door to the tavern opened and Solas and Cullen walked in. Cole ghosted around, wandering in behind them. 

“You could always ask, you know.”

“Shut up, Dorian.”

“I’m just saying—“

She threw an olive at him, which made him laugh. “What am I? An Antivan peasant?” He plucked the offending fruit off his robe and promptly flicked it at Varric.

“Ah, you’re here,” Cullen said over the din, walking around the table. One palm resting comfortably on his swordhilt, where it always was and that crooked, warm half-smile on his face that made her head feel stupid for an uncomfortably long time. 

She stood up to touch the hem of his cloak when he reached her. “They finally let you off the wall for night? Yikes, your hands are freezing, come on.” She gently took his arm and pointedly didn’t looked at anyone else when she led him to the main hearth. 

“Ugh, I’m gonna puke,” Sera grunted. 

Cassandra grumbled in what sounded like agreement. 

“I’ll be vomiting in stanzas over here,” Dorian said flatly, making a face at his pipe.

 

 

 

Cullen’s hand touched her spine as they stood in front of the fire. He leaned in. “I was told by Josephine that we have to learn to dance for the Winter Palace.”

Izzy looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. She laughed. “Does she _know_ us?”

Cullen laughed. “Sometimes I wonder—but because we’ll be there with the Inquisition, it will be expected, at least, for _you_ to dance.”

“Ugh,” she grumbled. “Do I have to? Couldn’t I just say I’m seeing someone and then run and hide behind you?”

He grinned. “Not that I wouldn’t fight the entire imperial guard for you, but it may disrupt the plan.”

She sighed. “I suppose so. Do you know how to dance?”

“I…when I became an officer it was recommended that we all learn. I know some but….I don’t have much practice. Do you—living among the Dalish….?”

“Yeah, not so much. I mean, I know some Dalish dances but somehow I don’t think they’d like them much.”

“Solas indicated to me that he could teach you.” The smile dropped out of his voice.

Izzy blinked. “Why would Solas want to?”

Cullen shrugged but he leaned in closer to her again. “Sometimes he says things—like he knows something he’s not telling the rest of us. He reminds me a certain amount of a mage I knew in Kirkwall.” He continued watching the fire and smiling but his tone was resolute, his Commander Voice creeping in. “I trust Solas—I believe he wants to help. However, should something come up that strikes you as odd,” and then Cullen looked sidelong at her, “I want you to tell me.”

She looked up at him, searching his expression and nodded. “All right. I will.”

Cullen nodded and the tension in his shoulders eased. “All right. Then Josephine would like you to meet with her tomorrow evening.”

“Uuuugh,” she grumbled loudly.

Cullen laughed at her expression, pulling her into his side with one arm and smiling against her hair. "I have to leave for Lydes tomorrow. You're going to Crestwood to meet Hawke’s friend from the Wardens at the end of the month, aren’t you?” 

She nodded. “He’s going to travel with us. Cassandra is excited.”

“You know, that’s sweet. In a terrifying sort of way.”

“I suppose this means we won’t see each other for a bit. And who knows if we’ll get back with enough time inbetween missions. You can stay in my quarters while I’m gone—I mean. If you wanted to. It has windows. And walls. Ones that don’t have huge gaping holes in them.”

“It would feel strange, I think, to be in there without you…but perhaps I will.”

“Be careful in Lydes. Are your captains going with you?”

“Captain Green is going with me. He’s bringing Sergeant Ritner and Sergeant Nugfoot. They’re each bringing their squadrons. I suppose in the meantime, you’ll be dodging Tevinters and watching for dragons.” 

She smiled. “We live exciting lives. If we fight a dragon, I'll bring you back a big tooth or something.”

She saw him off the next day, a strange and foreign feeling in her chest as she watched him get smaller and smaller as he rode away on his warhorse. She wandered restlessly around the Keep for a day and then went into his office. She could surely help with something while he was gone? Cassandra joined her. The Seeker seemed curious but did not intervene, only advised when the Inquisitor asked. And honestly, it was good to see her trying to branch out and learn how to take charge of small teams. Most of their soldiers didn’t know her, after all. Cassandra being there to provide guidance helped put the captains and sergeants at ease because the last thing they needed was someone who didn’t know what they were doing strolling in and making a mess of things. 

So Izzy managed to dig up a list of items Cullen wanted done but hadn't had time. She called in his captains. Four stayed up in the Keep (not including Green). Each Captain had between eight to ten sergeants under his or her command. Each sergeant was responsible for three squads. She requested them select those who could be spared to do some projects for her around the keep. She left it to them to decide how they would divide up the numbers. By that evening, she had about seventy-five soldiers, commanded by two sergeants and one Captain Petersen. Cassandra assisted with that and arranged for the Captain to report to her. It was important, the Seeker would explain to the elf, that she learn how to delegate tasks and allow others to take charge of projects that she gave them. This would be good practice. 

Izzy inspected the barracks, making notes with a charcoal pencil. She pulled in a group of mages as well, assigning one to each sergeant and one to the captain. It would be an experiment. They had Templars and they had mages. They needed to learn to work together. Cullen had expressed interest in a mixed-military service. Why not try it here?

They started cleaning debris and making repairs to some of the inner structures. Izzy began with the barracks and other areas that were important for the soldiers. It was no small task and it kept her blessedly occupied while she healed from about five thousand mosquito bites, courtesy of Fallow Mire, and a sprain to her knee. (One of the sergeants asked if she'd taken an arrow to it, which seemed to be some sort of Fereldan joke from the way only the Fereldan soldiers were struggling not to laugh.)

And then she had to leave again for the Storm Coast. She would miss Cullen by two days, but he came back with his list drastically reduced or in progress.

He ended up in his own quarters. Hers felt too big when she wasn’t there. So he climbed the ladder up to the loft. He stared, at first. An additional wall had been build, full of racks for his armor, gear and clothes. The roof was fixed and a stained glass window put in. The debris was gone, the place was swept and clean. Several hides rugged the floor, the bed had been rebuilt with a solid frame and piled with quilts. A hearth was busy drying out on the eastern wall. 

He found a note tacked to the wall. _Looks like I'm leaving before you get back, vhenan. Be careful out there. Break minds and skulls. --Dora_

He smiled softly.

He'd almost forgotten what a warm floor felt like.

 

 

 

This time, they didn't miss each other. 

They arrived in the middle of the night two weeks later. He woke when he heard Cassandra call up from below to open the gates. He got up instantly, dressing quickly and smiling in anticipation.

But the noise below continued. And the tone changed. Something quieted and then someone yelled to get Adan, Minaeve and Clemence. 

Cullen hurried downstairs.

Cassandra was just coming in. She looked at him.

Cullen tensed. “What is it? What happened?”

Cassandra waved to him to follow. “She was struck with a strange dart while we were on the Storm Coast. As were Sera and Varric. At first, they seemed all right but at the way back—it started to fester. Luckily, Iron Bull kept the darts. Dorian has it now.”

Hawke met them in the main hall, walking with them to the war room. 

Cullen took carefully measured breaths to keep himself under control. He went through the door first. 

The two elves and the dwarf were lying on the war table. Leliana was standing over them, studying the point of entry on Varric. “It’s crystallizing. Can we purge it?”

“With what? Leeches?” Dorian said, shifting a small burner to the table and taking one of the three darts that Iron Bull had kept.

“What happened?” Cullen demanded, his Commander Voice on full force.

“They were struck—but the darts didn’t seem to do anything and they aren’t big enough to kill. So I kept them in case they were poisoned. But it didn’t set in until we were on our way back. It was almost a week-long lag. Sera began to feel it first but her symptoms haven’t been as severe as the other two.” 

Cullen went to Izzy’s side, gently touching her forehead. “What are the symptoms?”

“Delirium, fever, pain….and then the entry points started to crystallize,” Iron Bull answered.

“Hmm, do you suppose that’s where the word for lyrium came from?” Dorian asked. “Delirium?”

Solas looked at him sharply.

Cullen ignored them. “Crystallize? With red lyrium?” He guessed, a sinking sensation in his stomach.

“Yes,” Cassandra said, quietly.

“Maker preserve us,” Cullen managed, swallowing hard and pulling up Izzy’s shirt. She’d been struck below her ribs. The pinprick had expanded to about the size of a copper and inside, he saw crystallized lyrium. His vision became a little fuzzy, staring at it. 

“It’s not a death sentence,” Hawke said quickly, seeing how the Commander’s eyes hollowed out. “It’s a small amount. It won’t necessarily take hold.”

Dorian shifted the little pot he had as Minaeve and Adan entered the room. “Look there, Minaeve, my dear. Fragments of red lyrium.”

“Clemence, go to the library and bring me the _Appendix of Lyrium and Its Properties_ ,” Minaeve said and then spooned the fragments out of the pot, spreading them across a strip of cotton. “Master Solas, will you look at this with me?” 

Solas dutifully came around the table to stand next to Minaeve. 

“This lyrium—it’s corrupted with Blight, correct?” Minaeve asked, looking up at Solas. “Adan, do you have witherstalk and deathroot?”

“Deathroot can cause intense hallucinations, Minaeve,” Adan reminded her. 

“Better than dying,” she said, no-nonsense. “Do you have any in your stores? If not—I believe Helisma might.”

“Witherstalk and deathroot together?” Dorian asked.

“Not the plant, the milk. Witherstalk milk has many uses Master Pavus. And bring leeches, Adan—they could draw a sample.”

Solas peered at the alchemist elf like he’d never really seen her before.

“We might be able to break the fever with it. Deathroot will cause hallucinations but only if the essence is concentrated. Hopefully, we won't have to use too much. Otherwise, it can be used to stop infection. It’s harsher than elfroot—we only use it for extremely aggressive cases of plague or pox.”

“I’ll go get my stores of dawn lotus and royal elfroot for the pain,” Adan said and hurried out.

Minaeve carefully put a tiny shard on one fingertip, raising it to the candles. She and Solas leaned in to examine it. “What happens if it touches flame directly?” She asked.

No one knew, so Solas grabbed a pair of tongs and Minaeve held very still as he gently lifted the fragment to the candle. The flame licked it, turned black and then nothing happened. 

“What about demon essence or darkspawn blood? Will they cancel out?” 

As they continued to test it, Cullen removed his cloak to cover the Inquisitor. When her eyes opened, he started, “Dora,” he said quickly, leaning into her line of sight and touching her temple. 

Her eyes were glazed and feverish but when she saw Cullen, they seemed to focus in a little. “ _Vhenan,_ ” she murmured. “ _Ir abelas…ir…din’anshiralan….ma inan thenaris tel’dorf…._ ” Her hand lifted, trying to reach for him. Cullen grabbed her hand and held it. “ _Na…ma mithadra nehnas…na…_ ” Cullen looked at Solas anxiously for a translation.

Solas looked at him, then at her. “She wishes you to stay by her side but knows you should leave. The Inquisition needs you, Commander.”

Beside him, Minaeve’s eyebrows furrowed curiously. That was not what she’d said. Not literally. Though perhaps it could be taken to mean that….

_I’m sorry. I…to this path of death…my dreaming eyes see no Grey. You…my honored joyous one…_

But it was broken; after all, the Inquisitor was delirious. 

“I’m not leaving,” Cullen said, quietly.

“The purpose seemed to be an experiment,” Dorian told the table. “To see if….the red lyrium could be weaponized in small amounts? To see how it would take?”

“I think so too. It must be a concentrated form of red lyrium,” Minaeve agreed. She held up one of the darts and examined it. “I hope they don’t figure out how. Infecting people with red lyrium—if it were made that easy…and all being connected to the Blight, it might put anyone under Corypheus’ command.”

“Explains why they targeted her—I mean, not that everyone isn’t doing it these days,” Iron Bull said. “But if that Corypheus could just take control of her, it would definitely make his job easier.”

Clemence and Adan returned with supplies and books. Helisma trailed behind them with a case of leeches. Minaeve thanked them and the men excused themselves. (Or, rather, Adan walked away with Clemence, helping the young man back to his room. Otherwise the Tranquil might stand in one spot all night and never move. Adan seemed to have adopted him.) Helisma stayed, putting a leech on the open lesion on Izzy’s abdomen, Varric’s leg and Sera’s arm.

Minaeve simmered down the thick white witherstalk milk while Solas cut up a few pieces of deathroot for her. She thanked him gently, meeting his eyes for just a moment before looking back down at Dorian’s small burner pot. The mess turned purple, filling the room with a strange, spicy scent. The alchemist ground up the dawn lotus and royal elfroot while Solas watched the concoction. 

Varric thrashed on the table, groaning softly. Hawke lingered at the dwarf’s side anxiously. “C’mon, you idiot….” Hawke murmured, absently touching Bianca where she lay up around Tevinter. 

“Helisma, please take extensive notes on their conditions and the reactions,” Minaeve directed. The Tranquil got parchment and a charcoal pencil.

Cassandra watched Sera. “She is the strange one. Sera showed symptoms first but the progression was much slower. When Izzy and Varric started to show symptoms, they succumbed within a day to fever and delirium. Sera had fever but was still fully aware until yesterday—a three day difference. And even then…she is quieter and calmer than the other two.”

“She hears the song but doesn’t know it,” Cole murmured from next to Cassandra. When he’d entered, no one knew. But they all just accepted it now, not even seeming surprised. Hawke was very curious, peering at the boy. “It makes her blood sing but…for…something else. Dwarves’ used to sing but it doesn’t now. It wants to fill him up with dreams. Izzy hears many songs. Too many for one person. It’s always hard to think. Now, it’s much harder.”

Solas looked at Cole, then at Sera. He took the pot off the burner for Minaeve when she looked in and nodded. 

“Watch your hands, Master Solas,” she advised, gently shifting next to him to ladle out the thick syrup. It was still steaming hot when she looked up at Cullen. “Hold her still, Commander.”

Cullen cringed at the boiling hot liquid but he moved, shifting to take her wrists in one hand and holding her hip down with the other.

“I’m so sorry, Inquisitor,” Minaeve said gently and then poured the syrup into the wound.

Izzy jerked, eyes opening wide and she cried out. It ended in a dry sob, trembling under Cullen’s hold. Blood flooded up through the red crystals, and Minaeve tore off her gloves and focused on the wound, a spell for renewal. She couldn’t speed the healing of this—the tissue must be regenerated and clean. When she saw it grow, it was blackened—but less. When she poured on the syrup a second time, Izzy groaned and then passed out from the pain. Cullen drug his palm over his face.

A fourth time, the tissue regenerated healthy. Minaeve sighed in relief. “All right. We should keep an eye on it but let’s…do the other two.”

Sera was murmuring quietly to the air around her. “I know he’s not wrong,” she said softly. “I know he’s…he’s…not…but….I…” She’d be struck on her lower left arm. “Do you think it would fall through if it hit the Mark?” She asked as Cole gently removed the leech from her and then took her elbows to hold her arms down.

“It might,” Cole answered gently. “And thank you.”

“I see the….I remember you,” Sera told him faintly.

And then Minaeve poured the boiling syrup onto her lower arm. Sera breathed in sharply, eyes clearing and then becoming vacant again. Her head lay to one side, wheezing softly. 

Varric probably had the worst reaction. He shouted, entire body seizing up. He went milk-pale, breaking out a trembling sweat. It took six administrations to get the tissue to regenerate healthy. Hawke and Cassandra held him down and Solas kept the dwarf from kicking out at Minaeve. The alchemist was starting to get tired. Regeneration spells were difficult at the best of times—let alone now. Solas put the pot down on her other side so she could still reach it and then touched her left arm and her shoulderblades, opening his magic up to her. She looked up at him, surprised and then nodded and refocused. She reached for Solas’ magic, letting it flood through her—warm and tingling—and directing it down into the dwarf. 

When it was done, she staggered and Solas gently held her up. “We can…poultice the wounds but we should keep an eye on them. They should be checked every hour to see if any of the crystals grow back. They may also hallucinate if they start to wake up.”

“We will watch them. Thank you, Minaeve,” Cassandra assured her. “Please, go and rest.”

“Helisma, watch the leeches—don’t let them crawl away or get lost.”

“Allow me to help you,” Solas said, keeping a hand on Minaeve’s arm and back to walk her to her quarters.

Cullen combed his fingers through Izzy’s hair, sitting beside her on the table. His face was drawn and quiet, eyes still and dark as he wiped the sweat from her brow with his cloak.

Hawke and Cassandra started their silent vigil over Varric while Cole sat at Sera’s feet, occasionally talking to her toes. 

The commander lifted up one of the little pewter figures from the map, shaped like a fist and holding the spiked band. He pressed his thumb against it, watching a bead of blood bubble out and slide down over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things have been kind of crazy for me. My brother lost four of his friends in Orlando, my sister tried to kill herself and then I lost my job. All in June. So please bear with me while I try to get my shit together. And sacrifice some goats or something to whatever god I pissed off.
> 
>  
> 
> Dear Dread Wolf,
> 
> Whenever you're ready.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> Katie


	6. Pull the Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen/Lavellan  
> \-------------  
> Discusses Anders from DA2 and the Hero of Ferelden from DA:O. So spoilers if you haven't played them.  
> \-------------
> 
> “Well, Corypheus might be the type to just knock on the door and then run?”
> 
> Izzy laughed, which made her cringe and cover her eyes again, still grinning. “Best mental image, ever. Here, I left this red lyrium. Haha. It’s going to grow and eat your house, and you, and your family, and your dog. And then you’ll become lyrium. All connected through lyrium. Hurray.”
> 
> “See. Curly will keep you from trying to kick his face in too soon.”  
> \------------

_You interrupted a ritual years in the planning._

 

“Years,” Izzy said softly. “Years in the planning. Meaning the Conclave was planned. The war between Templars and mages was planned. The chantry being blown up in Kirkwall was planned—“

“That…” Varric stared at her. “That—but that would mean—“

“Who _was_ Anders?” Izzy asked, sitting back against the wall.

Varric and Hawke looked at each other.

Hawke spoke, “He was a Grey Warden who ran from the Order. When I met him, he was hiding in the slums. He was a mage with a knack for healing.” Hawke braced a boot on the chair next to him, scratching fingers through his black hair. It was streaked with silver. “He was…also an abomination. He had become host to a spirit of Justice. But…inside of him it festered with his anger and became vengeance…”

“Why did he allow a spirit of Justice to inhabit him?”

“He said it was trapped outside of the Fade. He said he became friends with him.”

“Him?” Izzy asked. “He referred to the spirit as a ‘him’?”

“Yes…” Hawke said softly. “It was unusual but…we were all unusual, at the time.”

Izzy stood up from her chair, slowly making her way to the large board she’d constructed in her room. “What about Bryndis—the Hero of Ferelden?”

“That’s a question for Leliana,” Varric shrugged.

“She was a Warden too,” Izzy mused, hands on her hips as she studied the board. “And a mage.”

“You’re saying that there’s something else. Something, what—pulling all our strings? For years,” Hawke asked.

“I don’t necessarily believe in Fate but I don’t think this is coincidence either. The Hero of Ferelden, an elven mage Grey Warden. The Champion of Kirkwall,” she gestured to Hawke. “A human mage, displaced by darkspawn….meets you, Varric….and you both meet Anders. A human, Grey Warden mage. Who you just happened to hear was a Warden through rumor and you just happened to be going to the Deep Roads. He’s exactly who you needed, exactly when you needed him.”

Varric and Hawke exchanged looks.

“The Hero of Ferelden and King Alistair were saved by Flemeth, the Woman of Many Years, to my people. She pushed them to take her daughter, Morrigan, with them.” She turned around to face Hawke. “You were also saved by Flemeth, who took the form of a dragon—in the middle of a panic from what people were thinking was a Blight. If it truly was the same woman, the accounts of her appearance were very different. Not that that necessarily means anything—if she was a Witch of the Wilds. ” She scowled. “I wish she was here—Bryndis—those are big shoes to fill. And she knew Morrigan personally. Leliana is the only one still around. She told me in Haven that she used to believe she was chosen—like some think I was chosen—why did she think she was chosen?”

“The story goes that she saw a single rose bloom in her cloister after she had a dream about the Blight and from that moment, thought she was being called to a higher purpose,” Varric mused.

“And in the meantime…red lyrium was growing under Kirkwall, driving people insane. And Knight-Commander Meredith had a red lyrium statue that made her impossibly strong but also drove her to madness…red lyrium…blue lyrium...red roses. Hmph...I wonder...”

Izzy went to her bookshelf and scanned the titles. “Like dragon’s blood….” She pulled a slender volume off the shelf and paged through it. She searched each page until she appeared to find what she was looking for and then read it out loud, “Members of a dragon cult...blah blah blah...seems to permit those cultists to kill a small number of those young in order to feast on draconic blood. That blood is said to have a number of strange long-term effects, including bestowing greater strength and endurance, as well as an increased desire to kill. It may breed insanity as well. Nevarran dragon-hunters have said these cultists are incredibly powerful opponents. The changes in the cultists are a form of blood magic, surely, but how did the symbiotic relationship between the cult and the high dragon form in the first place? Blah blah blah."

Izzy turned the page and continued. "No member of a dragon cult has ever been taken alive, and what accounts exist from the days of the Nevarran hunters record only mad rants and impossible tales of godhood. With dragons only recently reappearing and still incredibly rare, we may never know the truth, but the question remains.” She turned the volume around to show them the title. “ _Flame and Scale_ by Brother Florian, written in 9:28 Dragon.” She tossed the book on her desk. “Dragons began reappearing just recently. Red lyrium is discovered after being hidden for years underground. And now, I just got a letter from Orzammar, saying something is happening in the Deep Roads.” She crossed her arms, looking stubbornly at her tack board. “Dumat….dragons…Flemeth…red lyrium, when an old god is corrupted from the Blight it becomes an archdemon. Why were dragons emerging from underground?” She rubbed her head and had to look away from the board.

Her head _ached_. “The only thing that connects _all_ these things, is the Blight. Grey Wardens, darkspawn, archdemons, red lyrium and now Corypheus….” She covered her eyes with her palm.

“Izzy?” Varric asked, getting up. “You all right, kid?”

“It’s just a headache,” she said, waving a hand. “They come and go.” She touched her side.

“Is it from the wound?” Hawke asked.

“Probably.” She tugged the hem up a little. “I don’t think it will ever completely heal. Sera’s hasn’t either.”

“Neither has mine,” Varric said softly. “That shit is fucking evil and now it’s in my skin. Ha. Figures.”

“Lyrium is a mineral but…it’s one that can hold many forms and still be just as potent,” Izzy said. “Red lyrium…grows out of…living tissue. Both of them have the ability to cause madness….but…” Her vision was starting to get fuzzy.

“Let’s take a break,” Varric said. “Hawke—would you mind getting Curly?”

Hawke smiled a little. “Now there’s a guy who’s changed a lot.” He got up to do so.

The dwarf stood in the inquisitor’s room, watching the elf try to will her headache away. “You think something is missing.”

“Yes, I do,” she said softly, screwing her eyes shut as her head seemed to throb from within. The Mark answered, pulsing on her hand. “Something is missing. Something we can’t see. Moving all of these pieces into position. And yet—having at least two backup plans. If the ritual went wrong, Corypheus had plans _already_ in place to take the red Templars and the rebel mages. Like he knew they’d be there. And when _that_ fell through—he was _still_ a step ahead, deeply ingrained into the Game of Orlais, the most powerful human kingdom that shares a border with fucking Tevinter.”

“A good mage is a prepared mage, I guess,” Varric said.

She smiled crookedly. “Yeah, a mage with an, apparently, inexhaustible supply of contacts and spies. I wonder how much Dorian knows about this stuff. Maybe I _should_ go find that Grey Warden that Leliana told me about. Ha!” She laughed and then immediately had to shut her eyes against her throbbing skull. But she continued to smile. “Another Grey Warden. Better keep an eye on this one, shortstack.”

“Ha, if he tries to banish us to the Fade or offers us a deal—give it a pass.”

She chuckled. “Like Fen’Harel?”

“Well, I was thinking the Maker.”

Izzy’s hand left her face, gazing at her tack board. She approached it to write on a strip of paper, _The Maker_ and then _Fen’Harel_. “Are there other stories of gods banishing other gods to the Beyond? Or underground?”

Varric looked thoughtful. “Avvar stories might. Old Gods of Tevinter….I dunno. That’d be a question for Sparkler.”

“Well, Corypheus is a figure from Tevinter history—who had a mortal woman named Calpernia at his side but…he wasn’t a god….”

The Anchor flared again and Izzy looked down, closing her eyes hard.

“Why don’t you sit down, Quizzers?”

She did, sinking down into her armchair with her forehead in her palm. “What if it isn’t Blight that connects everything, Varric? What if it’s lyrium?”

“I dunno. None of this shit makes any sense. It’s all fucked.”

“That’s true,” Izzy said, smiling faintly. “Where’s Hawke?”

“He went to get Curly, remember?”

“Shit, oh yeah.” She huffed. “He doesn’t need to get Cullen. Cullen’s probably working. He doesn’t need to drop everything and come up here. Nothing is wrong, I just need to lie down for a bit.”

“We’d prefer someone keep an eye on you,” Varric told her.

She snorted. “Good luck. I feel bad for anyone ‘keeping an eye out’ when Corypheus comes knocking again. Besides, I prefer for someone to keep an _eye_ on our army.”

“Well, Corypheus might be the type to just knock on the door and then run?”

Izzy laughed, which made her cringe and cover her eyes again, still grinning. “Best mental image, ever. Here, I left this red lyrium. Haha. It’s going to grow and eat your house, and you, and your family, and your dog. And then you’ll become lyrium. All connected through lyrium. Hurray.”

“See. Curly will keep you from trying to kick his face in too soon.”

“He’s got things to do, Varric. He doesn’t need to babysit me. If you’re going to insist, go get some ale and then come back—you’re not doing a whole lot except paperwork. We can plot to get Hawke and Cassandra alone together.”

“Ugh, how could you _do_ that to Hawke. He’s trying to help you.”

Izzy laughed, swearing softly when her hand sparked and her head appeared to throb in reply.

“Really though,” Varric said, “the reason I say Curly is because he’s the only one that you won’t send away when he gets this far.”

Izzy’s eyes shot wide open and she looked under her hand at him. “Oh, you little dick.”

“Or, well. His.”

“Oh, dammit—haha—fuck you, Varric.”

He grinned and heard the door open, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“I’m gonna throw something at you. And I can’t guarantee that it won’t be heavy and possibly adorned with spikes.”

“Wait—the Seeker is up here?”

“Ooh, Varric. Taking your life into your own hands with that one. Maybe I should tell her?”

Cullen and Hawke cleared the stairs. Standing side by side, the men were not much different in stature. Hawke was slightly leaner—as mages simply tended to be from all the extra energy always burning away everything they ate. Watching the Templar and the mage converse made her smile.

Cullen’s armor was better though. And, c’mon, those shoulders. And that hair, of course.

Hawke was just saying, “We should sometime, Commander. I think we both have things we should clear the air about. I wish I’d discussed more of it with you in Kirkwall. The opportunities were there and I didn’t take them.”

Cullen shook his head, raising a hand. “Believe me—you think I’ve evened out—this had barely taken hold in Kirkwall. I was so angry from the Circle of Ferelden that I wasn’t very good company.”

“You came around,” Hawke said. “That was what mattered. When the cards were down, you did what was right—Chantry be damned.”

Cullen looked at Hawke for a moment and then looked down. “Thank you, Hawke.”

“Call me Jon and have a drink with me and Varric sometime. I have questions.”

“For me?”

“Well, you’ve been working with the Seeker, right?”

Varric and Izzy pointed at each other. Varric burst out laughing and headed for the stairs. His voice drifted up a conspicuous fifteen seconds later. “Come ON, Hawke!”

“Oh!” Hawke said. “Sorry. Go on—go be gross.” He whirled around to follow Varric.

“Did he say ‘go be gross’?” Izzy asked.

Cullen started closing the windows and pulling drapes. “Yes—I’ll try to refrain.”

“Is he becoming your friend, Cullen?”

“Do you not approve?”

She smiled, hand still covering her eyes. “Why would I not approve? I just think its fun to watch. It helps me imagine what you were like when you were young with your brother.”

“I didn’t expect it,” Cullen said softly. “That…after all this time he could…look passed what I’d done.”

“That’s what heroes are supposed to do, right?” Izzy said, softly, uncovering her eyes to look at Cullen. “Look at you and see who you really are. Judge that…those who others deem unworthy might actually be the most worthy? Heroes are supposed to be able to….look at people who are the hardest on themselves and see themselves as worthless—and they see all the facets, like a diamond. Heroes are supposed to show it to you, right?”

Cullen had been rebuilding the fire, bathing the room in dim, warm light. He stared at her for a thoughtful moment. “Must be a lot of dirt if I’ve run into so many heroes.” He removed his cloak. “The Hero of Ferelden, Bryndis—at the Circle Tower.”

Izzy stood up to lean back on the edge of her desk, watching him. “The Champion of Kirkwall, who you then aided.”

The commander toed off his boots and walked towards her. “And now, the Inquisitor.”

“How are you not _dead_?” Izzy asked him. “No one gets that lucky _that_ many times when directly involved with important people.”

“Are you saying I’m not important?” he asked teasingly, stepping into her space and touching her hips.

Her hands touched his shirt, smoothing up his chest to wrap around his neck. “Just that I worry about you,” she said, a little softer, looking down, “…and if you died because of me……”

He felt her fingers tighten into his hair. Cullen leaned down, nose touching hers, nudging it to budge up so he could get to her mouth and capture it. The human heard her breath in deeply, like she might absorb him through his scent. The kiss renewed, anxious and fretting, then meeting again to smooth the tremors away. She edged herself onto her desk, opening her thighs and he moved automatically inbetween them, hands going down cup them.

“Suppose I had best not die then,” he said, fingers sliding up to the ties on her trousers, pulling one slowly to ease the knot. He slid his palms, full and warm, pressing against her abdomen, urging her lie back on her desk.

And then he leaned down to her. The tip of his nose traced her throat, her right ear and then the sheared left one. It left her nerves singing, squirming in anticipating. His palms kept her grounded, finally untying her trousers and sliding the tips of his fingers under the hem. She pressed her hips up into his hands.

He couldn’t deny her that. He pushed the soft leather and linen down her legs, sliding over her thighs and cupping her knee to remove them from her. He leaned down, placing a light kiss below her belly button and shifting up to catch her mouth again as his fingers deftly removed the rest of her clothes. She moaned softly, arching into him when he slid a warm, rough palm over her breast. “Cullen….”

He nodded, stealing another kiss and holding it as he loosened his belt. He grunted when he took his length in hand, breaking from her lips. Their eyes met, dark green like a summer storm and burning golden amber. When he slid against her, gathering the slickness against the head, he felt her shudder all the way down his body, like a wave of heat and need. She was burning through his clothes. He slid inside of her in one smooth push and he watched her head tip back, eyes closing, lips parted slightly as she breathed him in. Her knees pressed into his sides as he leaned down, bracing his elbows above her. She was shifting almost immediately, squeezing around him and moving her hips.

“Dora,” he managed. “I—give me a moment—“

“You're not going to hurt me,” she answered him softly and moved up harder against him.

Cullen pulled back and then met her thrust, hard and firm. Deliberate and powerful, like he did everything else. Her desk shook and he reached, pinching out a candle in case it toppled, before he pulled out almost entirely and then plunged into her. She moaned in his ear, breathing hot and rough when she kissed his temple and then bit the curve of his right ear. His hands moved, grabbing into her hips and roughly moving her, controlling her thrusts. She made a soft, quiet sort of sound that made his eyes flare up hot and vacant. Urging her hips into a more severe angle and hearing her cry out, breathless and delicious. She was so _tight_ , squeezing around him where her fingers were digging through his shirt, where her thighs locked around his hips and where they joined, wet and slick and hot. Lost in that heat, in each other, in the breaths in an ear that reminded them they weren’t alone anymore. They chased it together, a flurry of desperate comfort that they poured into each other. The strokes transforming from pleasure to those moments of exquisite agony inside of her as he felt it pulled from him, pleasure pulsing hot into her depths.

Her hands had a vice grip into his shoulders, arms wrapping around him and holding him against her as she shook. Cullen’s strokes slowed, working them both through it with a satisfied groan. He kissed her hard until it faded and then he picked her up. He didn’t move from inside of her, carefully carrying her to her bed.

Her hands dodged to his shirt when he knelt onto her quilt, pulling it off of him. He got his trousers off and then laid down beside her, hooking an arm around her and pulling her back against his chest. She lifted her right thigh automatically and he slid inside of her again. They both shuddered, moaning. Her fingers latched into her sheets and he cupped her thigh, holding it up. He started slower, to get the rhythm and then harder, holding her tight against him. He braced his left arm above her head. One of her hands found it and their fingers threaded together as an anchor for him to thrust into her.

He shifted, bracing a knee and changing the angle, slamming into her from between the boundary of her thighs. Her desperate gasps for air, her magic crackling between them, prodding and examining the Templar in his blood. Until he finally moved again, pushing her onto her front, pinning her arms to the bed and fucking her, finally. Raw and biting and desperate, he knelt over her back, hands moving to her hips and roughly pushing them together and feeling her start to gear up again against the hard length of his cock. Thrusts fueled with pent-up aggression, frustration, anger, fear, intensity, love.

The line between violence and lust was very thin.

He leaned over her and bit the tip of her right ear. Her whole body stiffened, he hilted into her again and she seemed to shatter, coming around him tight and hot. He followed her, riding it harsh and deep, groaning as he pushed her down against the bed, with one last, deep thrust, spilling himself completely within her. Their bodies trembled and Cullen slid down to the bed beside her. She did not move, pulling his arm over her, keeping him linked inside of her.

She panted, bathed in a sheen of sweat. But she was boneless in his arms. He liked it when she felt like that. When she wasn’t scared—knew she was safe enough to relax because she was with him. He stroked her hair through his fingers before they dozed off.

At her desk, her wolf statue had been tipped onto its side facing the wall.

The eyes burned green.

 

 

 

 

 

Downstairs, Hawke and Varric sat side-by-side. They both quietly observed their ale.

"So what do you think?" Varric asked.

"She seems like good people," Hawke said softly. He glanced up to Varric staring at him. "What?"

"Is it Blondie?"

Hawke looked down again, taking a deep breath. "I don't mind her asking, Varric. He was integral to this. But....it's strange to hear someone talk about him like....he was...."

"....just a character in a story," Varric finished faintly.


	7. Gods of All of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen/Lavellan  
> \-------------
> 
> “Then I should teach you secretly. Sometimes Solas says things in elvish because he knows most people won’t understand.” She looked a little embarrassed again but pleased. “I’d like to teach you, though. I mean…I’m…I’m glad you want to learn.”
> 
> “There are a couple other things I’d like to learn—if you’ve a mind to answer a question or two.”
> 
> She nodded. “All right, fire away, Commander.”
> 
> “What happened to your left ear?”  
> \------

“So, here’s the plan,” Josephine said. “We will all go as a group to Val Royeaux. After the Ball, the Inquisitor will continue on to Adamant fortress with Hawke and the Warden.”

“It will—“

The door to the war room burst open and Izzy bounced inside. “Cullen! Guess what!”

“You’re back!” Cullen beamed, coming around the war room table. “When did you return? I didn’t hear the horn.”

“Just now—but more importantly! I brought you something!”

Cullen looked a little bemused. “Some sand from the Western Approach?” He tugged on a lock of errant hair. “You need a bath. Desperately.”

“No!” Izzy said. “Well. Yes, actually. But that’s not the thing! It’s this!” She pulled out a small pouch and dumped it out on the war table. Some slivers of wood and a few stones fell out, along with a small figure of a griffon. 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “So…you got into the poison wastes out there?”

“No! This is from Griffon Wing keep.” She shoved at his shoulder, grinning.

“The old Warden fortress?” Cullen said.

“Yes. I took it over so I could give it to you!” She grinned.

“Aw, she got you a castle,” Leliana laughed.

Cullen burst out laughing. “You are….” He shook his head and reached out to touch her shoulder.

“Hey! I was really proud of myself!” She insisted and embraced him.

He grinned against her hair. “Thank you. I’ll see it occupied as soon as possible. This is perfect, actually—we were just discussing the timeline for going to Adamant. I can send soldiers out there now while we go to Val Royeaux. By the time we get to the Western Approach—it ought to be well-established.”

“I could think of worse gifts,” Josephine said, smiling.

“A fortress is an excellent first try for gifts between _lovers_ ,” Leliana teased. 

“Arrrgh!” Cullen groaned. 

“Don’t be jealous, Leliana,” Izzy sniffed. “Maybe you can have the next one. If you’re nice.” She mock-glared at her.

“I’m all a-flutter,” Leliana laughed.

“I will have a servant sent up to open your room. It’s been closed up entirely for almost three weeks. Someone will have some food sent as well. Did Hawke return with you?” Josephine asked, all business.

“Yes—he’s with Varric. We brought Stroud back as well. Blackwall is probably going to faint, getting to talk to another Warden.” She snorted softly.

“Did you have a problem with Blackwall?” Leliana asked.

“Oh, he proceeded to tell me how I didn’t know what I was talking about and obviously the Inquisition is wrong because _he’s_ never heard of Corypheus.” Izzy waved a hand dismissively. “You’re talking to him this afternoon, right? Be prepared to have him attempt to explain your shit to you.”

Cullen chuckled. “How aggressively did you talk to him, Izzy?”

“I didn’t!” She exclaimed. “I swear! We helped him kill some bandits—I put the notes we found with the bandits in the file I gave to Leliana, by the way—and he acts like I’m some moron who _obviously_ couldn’t understand what happened at Haven despite fucking _being_ there. I couldn’t tell if it was because I was an elf—and he was doing that patronizing-human thing, no offense—or if it was because I was a woman or what. But when I told him we didn’t need him—he suddenly changed his tune and begged to join up because we apparently need a Warden.”

“Wow, he really touched a nerve,” Cullen said.

Izzy sighed. “Cassandra seems to like him okay. And I trust her judgment. So I’m going to try really hard to not judge him by his terrible first impression. I just hate it when humans do that to me. And I know not all humans are like that—I’ve just run into a fair amount since I left my clan. It makes me want to punch them every time. And I respect Wardens. Bryndis was a Warden, a Dalish elf. I respect Wardens. It was just him in particular…” She scowled.

“I’ll speak to him soon,” Leliana said. “Perhaps he was simply thrown off.”

“Yeah, well, if he starts crying into his beard, don’t let that stop you. He took me asking questions about the Wardens _really_ personally.”

Josephine cleared her throat politely. “Well—while Leliana does that, I will begin arrangements to head to Halamshiral for the ball.”

“And I’ll give one of the captains marching orders for the Western Approach,” Cullen said, not missing a beat. 

“Then I’m going to bed for a few hours. I’m exhausted.” Izzy plucked the little griffon figure off the table and put it in her pocket before turning around to head out.

“Take a bath first!” Cullen called after her.

“Make me!” She called back as she went out the door.

Leliana burst out laughing. “Was that a challenge or an invitation?”

“Shut up!” Cullen sputtered, face turning red.

 

 

By the time the commander found his way up to her room, she was pulling off the last of her body armor. She eyed him when he came up the stairs. 

“Were you sunburnt or are you just _that_ dirty,” he asked, raising his eyebrows at her sand-covered clothes and brown skin.

“Could be both. Care to find out, Commander?” She smirked.

“Can’t say I’m not tempted.”

“There better not be anything following that statement.”

“I…I do have…quite a bit of work….” He trailed off.

She trapped his gaze, uncoupling the buttons of her shirt. “What were you saying?” she asked.

“I—uh…” Cullen swallowed hard.

She slid her shirt off her shoulders. “It must be distracting—how _dirty_ I am?”

His eyes darkened.

Izzy slid her hands up her back to untie the binding around her breasts, letting it fall to the floor. “Look at you, Templar. Such admirable restraint,” she simpered. She slid her hands over her breasts, down her abdomen to her trousers, pulling at the ties. Her fingers slid under the edge, arching slightly to push them down—

He was across the room in an instant, grabbing her to him. “I missed you,” he breathed against her mouth.

“Cullen—I want—I need you. Right now. Cullen,” she murmured breathlessly. “Please…”

In a flash, her trousers were off and he pulled her into the wet room. The bath was full of steaming hot water. She stepped into it but stayed standing, pulling off his cloak. “This is going to sound weird,” she said quietly, “but I love the way your armor feels against my skin.”

His breath escaped his lungs in a rush. She watched his eyes dilate. Heated and dark and hungry as he hurried to drag it off. She let him deal with the chestplate, fingers flickering down to his trousers instead and opening the ties. He dropped his armor beside the door, fighting off his clothes before stepping into the bath with her. Their mouths crashed together, her arms wrapping around his neck and he lifted her up to kneel down in the wide stone tub. His hands moved over her, restless. Dirt and dried blood flaked off of her. He ignored it for the moment, finding slick heat between her thighs. She moaned into his ear when he slid his fingers inside of her. She came hard and very quickly, shaking apart against his hand.

“Ha….I…I’ve been…sorry—I…I’ve wanted you for days,” she breathed, attacking his mouth. 

“Not to worry.” She thrilled to the way his voice dropped lower in pitch. “I can help.”

Water was all over the stone floor by the time she was clean. Cullen laid in the tub, pulling her back to his chest so his hands could massage her breasts and stroke between her thighs again. She was deliciously responsive. She’d clearly missed him a great deal. He was burning up inside thinking about it. Imagining at their camps how she might have sat on watch, longing for him between her thighs. 

That made him shudder, cock twitching against her. She didn’t want Solas. She didn’t want Hawke. She wanted _him_.

“Cullen,” she managed again. “I—inside me—Cullen—“

He grabbed her up and stood, going out to her bed. He pushed her down to the blanket on her front, sliding his hands over her back and clamping onto her hips. She writhed, arching in a silent plea to fill her. Fill her up with heat, with _him_.

Cullen pushed into her, listening to her cry out softly. Her hands curled into her blanket, wanton and needy. He knelt over her, kissing her spine and then biting the back of her neck. 

“Ah, _vhenan_ …”

He placed a palm on her abdomen to keep her hips at the angle he wanted. With the other, he curled fingers into her hair, pulling against the strands and feeling how she tightened up unbearably around him. Her moan escalated with that wave of sensation, pain and pleasure in equal measure. 

He felt her shudder all the way to her core before she came, muffling her cry into her blanket. Cullen groaned, losing rhythm, losing control as he thrust into her urgently before spilling inside of her. Cullen shifted her further onto the bed, gently easing out of her. But she didn’t let him pull away. She urged him down to lie on top of her.

Cullen nosed the back of her neck. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yes…” she murmured to her blanket. “I just…want to feel your warmth, your weight. I…” her voice cracked a little. “I…I feel….safe…um….when I’m…with you.”

Cullen curled his arms around her. “Was it bad in the Approach?”

“Yes,” she whispered, voice cracking a little. “Warden mages sacrificing each other with blood magic…it was awful.”

“We’ll stop them when we go to Adamant. You have my word.” 

 

 

 

 

“Anders,” Hawke said carefully. “You need to calm down.”

“She calls me a demon—of everything I’ve done—I will show them—“

“Anders! She’s one of the mages you’re trying to save! Don’t turn on her now!”

“She will see the truth of monsters.” His drew his hand back.

Hawke scrambled forward, grabbing his friend by the arm. “Anders!”

The girl screamed, curling up in a ball on the ground.

Anders whirled around, eyes glowing fierce and silver, his voice booming around them in the cavern. “You should be helping—you are the distraction that weakens him. You—“

Something inside of Anders seemed to pulse, blasting the cavern with light. Hawke was thrown back. Anders staggered into the stone. The silver in his eyes was gone. He had wrenched control away. Fenris drew his sword, eyeing the apostate. 

The mage stumbled to his feet. “I have to go. I…can’t…I can’t.” He took off.

“Anders!” Hawke yelled after him, pushing himself to his feet.

But the other mage was gone. 

Fenris sheathed his greatsword, looking sidelong at Hawke. “He can’t control that thing inside of him.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Isabela said, chuckling.

“He’s going to either kill himself or kill one of us,” Carver said, shaking his head. “He’s too dangerous. We’d be better off giving him to the Templars.”

Hawke sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “They’ll kill him or make him Tranquil. I…” he touched his staff. “I…can’t do that to another mage.”

“You may not get a choice, you know. And what happens if he _does_ kill one of us? What then?”

“Is that what you would have wanted for Bethany? What if it was her someone wanted to make Tranquil?”

“You can’t bring up Bethany when you’re the one who let her die!”

Hawke stiffened and took a deep breath. He turned away and walked out of the cavern. 

Aveline scowled at Carver. “I was there, you know. Your sister was brave when she tried to protect your mother. Hawke didn’t let her die. And you blaming him for everything doesn’t help the situation, Carver.”

“If he would just listen to reason—!”

“Pack it up, Junior,” Varric cut him off. “Let’s get this girl back to the Gallows.”

A few hours later, Varric found Hawke in the Hanged Man, nursing a drink and smoking a pipe of dense Rivaini hash. The dwarf sat across from him. “Did you find him?”

Hawke shook his head. “No. I checked the clinic but he’s gone.” He ran his fingers through his thick black hair. “I know Anders is dangerous—to us and to himself. But…” he sighed. “….if we could just get rid of that thing inside of him…”

“We gotta figure something out. Some kind of nerve pinch or just hit him over the head with a brick or something. He almost killed that Circle mage.”

“I wonder if I could…put him to sleep. With a spell. I suppose it’ll either work or it’ll _really_ piss off Justice.” Hawke chuckled a little.

“Try not to do it in an enclosed space.”

“Jon?”

He looked beside him and froze. 

Bethany was sitting there, half of her skull still smashed in and soaked in blood. Her skin was shredded and grey, rotting on her bones.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Varric said, not appearing to notice.

His dead sister reached across the table. “Jon!”

 

 

Hawke jumped awake, breathing hard. The mage stumbled out of bed, grabbing matches to light a lantern by his bed. He looked around the stone room. He was still in Skyhold. Right. Still at Skyhold. Just a dream. Mostly a memory—but just a dream. Poor Bethany was dead. Hawke drug his fingers through his hair, making it stick up everywhere. He pulled on his clothes. He felt like he was suffocating. He had to get out of this room. The man pulled on his boots and staggered out into the cold, still night. 

The tavern was empty by this time. Cabot’s night tender was still at the counter, of course, but dozing. Hawke didn’t bother him. He got himself an ale and went to one of the back corners to drink, getting out his pipe as well. 

For a long time, he sat there in silence. _Do I still have a part to play in all this? Or is my role over? Flemeth told me to watch for the edge…and not be afraid to leap. But…how will I know…?_

Maybe he could talk to Varric about it. The trip to Halamshiral would take at least two weeks—providing they crossed the Waking Sea with no storms. Plenty of time to talk to Varric about the creepy witch. 

 

 

 

 

“What is that word you use?” Cullen asked her softly. “Ven-nan?”

“Oh…I… _vhenan_...” Izzy scratched her hair. “It’s….well…it’s an elven term of, uh, endearment.”

“What does it mean?” 

“Um, it means…” Izzy smiled and looked away, seeming embarrassed. “It means _heart_. My heart.”

Cullen was quiet for a moment and then he smiled, warm and soft, touching her jaw to bring her eyes back up to his. “Would you teach me some elven?”

She blinked at him. “You want to learn?”

“I do. You know—when Cassandra brought you back from the Storm Coast and you were delirious—you were speaking elven and I couldn’t understand you. Solas had to translate—but I’d rather be able to translate for myself.”

“Then I should teach you secretly. Sometimes Solas says things in elvish because he knows most people won’t understand.” She looked a little embarrassed again but pleased. “I’d like to teach you, though. I mean…I’m…I’m glad you want to learn.”

“There are a couple other things I’d like to learn—if you’ve a mind to answer a question or two.”

She nodded. “All right, fire away, Commander.”

“What happened to your left ear?”

“Oh, um.” Her eyes widened and then she looked aside at her blanket. “Well, um.”

“The truth,” Cullen said quietly. “I know you’ve told everyone a different story about why you left your clan. But…I would like the truth—if you trust me.”

“I do—I just…” She fidgeted, sitting up and running her fingers through her hair.

He sat up beside her. “Then tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “All right. I—my family has been a part of clan Lavellan for a long time. But we weren’t always. Once, we were our own clan. And we were bound to Anaris—a Forgotten One. No one really knows…how it happened—and when we tried to break away from Anaris—apparently, bad things happened. It was a long time ago—and the Dalish don’t keep very good records—so it’s all stories and fearmongering. I don’t know if any of it is actually true. But it was our family duty—basically—to serve Anaris. And serving Anaris apparently meant us keeping a Shrine. The Shrine was not to him—but to another. The elven pantheon has nine gods. One of them was Fen’Harel, the trickster.”

“He’s the one that supposedly banished the others, right?”

“Yes,” Izzy affirmed, nodding. She stood up, pulling on Cullen’s shirt to walk across the room and pick up the little wolf statue. She brought it back to him. “The shrine had this—a little wolf statue. And we were to keep this shrine until the day that the eyes would glow. And when they did, it meant that Fen’Harel had awakened from his slumber. Or—had returned from the Fade. Because it was said that Fen’Harel spent his time wandering the Fade, annoying mages and stuff.”

“So he’s supposed to be back in the world now?”

“Yes—supposedly. I never put much stock in it until the day I entered the Shrine to clean it and the eyes were glowing green. Sometimes, they glow again—here. We know almost nothing about Fen’Harel or our gods. As much as the Dalish try to keep our culture and history…in reality, we know very little about who they were or if they were even Gods—instead of, say, powerful mages. It’s why Solas and I…really clashed when we first met. He apparently knows a great deal from wandering the Fade but…he hasn’t really shared much with me. He…doesn’t have a lot of respect for the Dalish.” She shrugged. “Which—sometimes I can’t blame him. Sometimes the Dalish do really stupid things. But—that’s everyone, really. Anyway—when the eyes glow—the Shrine’s Keeper, who was me, would then be exiled from the clan. I was supposed to wander until I somehow…found Fen’Harel.”

“And then what?”

She shrugged. “We didn’t really know. We were supposed to find him and then….maybe try to kill him or something? We were bound to Anaris—who was said to hate Fen’Harel for some—bullshit thing that gods hate each other for. One took the other’s…magic scarf or whatever. Though everyone in my family was marked with Ghilan’nain,” she said, pointing to her face. “We were…supposed to be seen as friend to Fen’Harel because Ghilan’nain was a mortal elf who was raised into godhood by Mythal.”

Cullen blinked. “Huh….sort of like…Andraste.”

“Exactly like Andraste.” She agreed. “After I came to Skyhold, I started combing the library for information on other gods in other cultures and looking for crossovers—similarities in stories. There are a lot of them.”

“Like what?”

“Tevinter’s old gods: Dumat, Zazikel, Razikale, Toth, Andoral, Urthemiel, Lusacan. Silence, Chaos, Mystery, Fire, Sacrifice, Beauty and the Night. They all have older associations with elven gods—except for Toth. Andruil, for example, is our goddess of the hunt—but there’s always an association to her with sacrifice and slavery. Andoral was the old Tevinter god of the Slaves and of Sacrifice. Lusacan was god of the Night, said to be mad and he had an association with owls. Our Falon’Din has similar attributes. Their Dumat is associated with our Mythal. Urthemiel is associated with a constellation called _Bellitanus_ , the Maiden—who some believe connects him to Ghilan’nain—who was said to be extraordinarily beautiful and graceful. Now, dwarves are different—they don’t have gods like we do. But there is a legend of the seven brothers who founded the dwarven empire: Bloadlikk, Kiotshett, Shotkyar, Orzatyar, Orzammar, Koapar and Knakkt. Koapar and Knakkt are the twins, like our Falon’Din and Dirthamen—and they reflected each other in the Merchant and the Servants caste. It’s from these seven brothers that the caste system supposedly came to be—any other association is shaky at best. But it caught my attention because there are seven of them, like there are seven Tevinter gods and—really, among the elven gods, there are seven. Yes, Fen’Harel and Ghilan’nain were counted as gods—but Ghilan’nain was a mortal elf and Fen’Harel came and went as he pleased—they weren’t like the other seven. The Avvar have lots of gods but there are a few that tend to be more common: Korth the Mountain-Father, the Lady of the Skies and Goddess of the Dead, Hakkon Wintersbreath—son of Korth and Lord of War and Winter, Uvolla a god of Sacrifice, Rilla of the Fireside—of the hearth, Imhar the Clever—their trickster and Sigfrost, a great bear and guardian of wisdom. What’s interesting about Sigfrost is that there is a legend about Dirthamen, our God of Knowledge, who liked bears more than all other creatures and they’re sacred to Dirthamen. Lady Flemeth, the Woman of Many Years—her story lines up a creepy amount to Andraste’s.” Izzy looked at her windows. “Where was I going with this?”

Cullen started. “Oh—your ear.”

“Shit—got sidetracked. Sorry. Anyway—I’ve been researching that. A lot. So Fen’Harel is supposedly awake out in the world somewhere. We have no way of recognizing him, of being led to him—we were just supposed to wander and I guess, hope that the gods would…help us out. Hasn’t happened yet. That was almost three years ago and so I left the clan and started wandering. I went into Tevinter—huge mistake. Dalish don’t get around a lot—we stay in certain areas. I didn’t really know…anything about Tevinter. I heard they had slaves there. And I heard they have extensive knowledge about magic. I’m a mage. So I went. I ran into some slavers who…thought I was an escaped slave. They—did some uh, not very nice things—and then cut off the tip of my ear. I was in Tevinter for almost a year until I finally escaped. And then, of course—I went through the Free Marches and heard about the Conclave.”

“You said before you knew someone that was…working at the Conclave. Is that really how you got it?”

She shifted, a little uncomfortable. “I….started going into the Fade a lot—to try and find help. I liked traveling, I didn’t miss my clan, really. But...I didn’t know what I was looking for. I met a spirit of Wisdom who told me that there would be someone at the Conclave who knew the whereabouts of Fen’Harel. And if I could find him—then I’d have my answers. But I didn’t get to confirm—before the place was blown sky high. The person I was supposed to find was…apparently, a servant of Mythal. The person who got me in was….a Tevinter.”

“A _Tevinter_ ,” Cullen said faintly, eyes widening.

“I…I know that sounds bad. I don’t know what he was doing there. I didn’t ask. I didn’t know a whole lot about the mage-templar conflict going on. I wanted to find this servant of Mythal—I didn’t care about the rest.”

Cullen was staring at her.

“I—Cullen—I…I didn’t…I could never have known all this would happen. I wasn’t…I just wanted to find this contact. I think he was a mercenary. He didn’t ask why I was there, I didn’t ask why he was there—neither of us had an invitation. He had a small pin on his cloak that was a token of Razikale, that was the only reason I figured he was Tevinter.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone he was there?” Cullen asked her softly.

“No…” she answered and looked away, feeling horrendously guilty now. “I…”

“And what if he caused the explosion?”

“I…I don’t know what happened. I…I’ve thought about that—and I….yes, I was too caught up in what I was doing to wonder about a random Tevinter at the Conclave.”

“He shouldn’t have _been_ there at all,” Cullen said, voice taking on a harder edge.

Izzy looked down at the stone wolf, petting it anxiously with her thumb. “I know that now—I didn’t….I didn’t then. I mean—yes, I figured he probably wasn’t supposed to be there. But neither was I.”

Cullen drug a hand down his face and got up. “I….I need you to tell me everything you remember about this Tevinter so that I can tell Leliana.”

Izzy got up and didn’t meet his eyes as she removed his shirt and put on her own clothes. “I don’t remember much about him—except that initial meeting. I mean—he had dark hair and dusky skin and golden eyes, like a lot of Tevinters do.”

“Izzy, if he’d been an assassin or—“ Cullen cut himself off, dragging a hand down his face.

“I was afraid it would make you all suspect me more than you already did. I….Cullen, I-I’m sorry…” she said quietly. 

“I should go tell Leliana,” Cullen said softly and when he’d dressed, he left her room silently. 

Izzy looked around her empty room, covering up the eyes of the stone wolf. "I'm sorry..."

.  
.  
.  
.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real Life Crap is still kicking my ass right now. Having a hard time writing stuff. Sorry for all the delays--I know I was updating really regularly before June and now because of the copious amount of bullshit that's gone on, I'm all like: bleeeh.


	8. No More Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen/Inquisitor  
> \------
> 
> “I know it’s difficult, being a noble in Halamshiral,” Izzy went on, smile turning sharp and glaring. “You have to try to pay attention to other people and listen when they tell you _difficult_ things. Like, _I don’t want to dance_ or _I’m not interested in any of you_ or—“ Her hand flashed out, grabbing a noble women by her wrist when she tried to touch Cullen. “Or _don’t touch my Commander ever again or I will break your arms and then gut you_.”

Cole dodged by her, sweeping around effortlessly and stabbing with their practice blades. They were wooden and blunted with leather-wrapped hilts. Izzy felt it slam into her ribcage, grunting.

Cole stepped back, observing her. “You are distracted.”

Izzy shifted a little, glancing away.

“Because you lied to him.”

Izzy glanced behind her, where their caravan of horses, wagons and soldiers had stopped along a forest edge for the evening. 

“You regret it,” Cole told her. “But you were afraid.”

“Yeah,” Izzy said softly. “And then…there didn’t seem to be a good time to tell them—well, no. I could have at any time, I guess. I just…”

“You didn’t expect to care.”

“I’m sorry, Cole…I just…I shouldn’t have lied to everyone. Not about how I entered the Conclave, about why I was there and why I left my clan. It’s just always been….such a secret. To everyone. Even other members of the clan.” 

Cole walked over to the small fire they’d built, laying a log on it and sitting down beside it. She followed him. “Your father Watched before you.”

“Yes, until he wasn’t able to travel distances anymore and then I took over. And then he died a few years after, just before I was Marked.”

“What about your mother?”

“She….left,” she said, shrugging a shoulder. “No one was sure where she went.”

“Then why do you still dream about her?”

Izzy stiffened, looking sharply at Cole.

The spirit was watching her closely. “You should stop lying. You have to, or they’ll never trust you.”

“I’m pretty sure they already don’t.”

“Solas trusts you.”

Izzy blinked at him. “Wh—he does?”

“Yes. You don’t have to hide behind lies. Many here already do that.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” She sighed. “Didn’t realize you could look into dreams too, kid.”

“Only when there’s pain,” Cole told her. “The…Dalish. They are good. Sometimes. And then sometimes they’re like your clan.”

Izzy looked at the crackling coals. “I thought it would be all right for a while. But when my older sister refused to be the Watcher after my father…and they just stood by….” 

“She attacked your mother. She was hurt inside. Her mind was hurt. Twisted. She was never like the others. She liked killing and causing pain. She was wrong inside. Anaris had already touched her.”

Izzy peered at the spirit. “How much do you…know about Anaris?”

Cole looked into the trees, seeing something no one else could. “He didn’t make your sister…wrong inside. She was already wrong. But his touch…made it louder. Made it hard for her to ignore the…the song.”

“The song? But—Amberlain wasn’t….she wasn’t a mage.”

Cole’s large hat tilted and he looked at her from under the edge. “No…she wasn’t. Until Anaris touched her mind.”

Izzy stared at Cole for a moment. “How…how do you…how could you know something like that?”

“Your thoughts touch hers. And she ran away after she killed your mother.”

Izzy felt her stomach drop. “….she’s still alive?”

Cole nodded. 

“Do you know where?”

“She’s too…confused. In her head. It’s lost a lot. In mist and smoke. There’s always a fire burning. It’s always….burning.” Cole looked down at the fire, the brim of his hat hiding his face. “Burning deep inside with pain and guilt. Unsure if she’s still herself or if Anaris stayed with her.”

“…. _did_ Anaris stay with her?”

“No…he’s with you.”

Izzy stared at him, suddenly wondering why it had never occurred to her to ask Cole. “How do you know?”

“You’re…so bright with the Mark and…with magic. But. He makes you…like an eclipse against the sun.”

“Then why doesn’t _he_ help me find Fen’Harel!”

Cole shook his head. “He is…with you but…he’s…on the other side. In the Fade.”

“If thoughts touch each other…can’t I…I dunno, go into the Fade and ask him where I’m supposed to find him? Why haven’t I ever seen Anaris there?”

Cole looked sidelong at her. “You shouldn’t. It will only cause you pain. He did what he had to, to save those he could. They were….necessary deaths. Carried around now like…like a great weight of pain.”

“When…you mean when he banished the gods?”

Cole’s eyes sparkled in the glowing firelight. It flickered across his face in eerie shadows. “Is it wrong to banish darkness that so hurts others?”

Izzy sat up straighter. “…what do you mean? Were our gods…not….good?”

“I can’t hear back that far. Even the Fade can’t quite remember. After it sundered them all. They were made silent. But. The sundering saved the rest. The wolf did the only thing he could.”

“So…Fen’Harel was….good?”

“He did what was necessary.”

“Is that why Anaris is said to hate him?”

“Some think Anaris was wrong and dark inside. Some thoughts and stories don’t…don’t make it to us whole. They are shattered and fragmented and we fill in spots where there’s nothing. But like spirits, gods can be _seen_ as good or bad regardless of what they really are. They reflect now. And Anaris maybe never hated Fen’Harel at all. After all, you were to be seen as friend and marked with Ghilan’nain. Maybe the story connects to her?”

“Was she—“

An arrow came whistling out of the dark, but Cole was up in a flash. He slashed the arrow, shattering it into pieces about ten inches from Izzy’s face. 

“Holy shit!” She jumped up, summoning her staff to herself. “Warn the others!” She commanded Cole and then ran into the forest, blasting flashes of lightening into the dark. Spinning with her staff, throwing dirt into the air as her arrow ward caught two shafts and spit them to the ground. She stabbed an archer with the bladed end of her staff, flipping around it to cuff another. Someone dealt her a stunning backhand across her head and slammed her into the dirt. She threw up a Static Cage—trapping the attackers around her and shocking them repeatedly. She managed to scramble up—meeting a crossbow bolt. It punched into her stomach. She grunted, reaching down and touching hot blood and growling. She Stepped through the trees, blasting through the archer and whipping around to clobber him. He pulled the trigger and she barely managed to duck, popping up just in time for something hard and heavy to smash into the side of her head. Her vision blurred and her mouth tasted metallic with blood—

And then suddenly, Solas was next to her, blasting the attackers back from her. Sera peppered another with arrows while Vivienne dealt out vicious blows with her spirit blade. Blood sprayed in the moonlight, coating the nearby trees. Cullen and Cassandra came barreling in through the dark, both attacking a huge woman who was wielding a warhammer, sticky with blood and Izzy’s brown hair. Inquisition soldiers spread out with torches to hunt for any others—they appeared to be bandits, a few rogue Templars among them. 

“Stay still, _lethallan_ ,” Solas advised, kneeling beside Izzy and touching the wound to her head. She threw up into the dirt, dizzy and nauseated. 

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra called out, hurrying over to them with Cullen trailing behind her. “Does she have a concussion?”

“I’m fine,” Izzy said, blinking blood out of her eye as Solas flexed healing magic over her head. 

“Clearly not,” Cullen said, a little sharply. “Are you always this reckless? You should have waited for us.”

“I’m fine,” she said again, leaning on Solas a little until the other mage tipped her back.

“She is often reckless,” Cassandra huffed. “Though I am hardly one to reprimand her.”

Izzy grumbled as Solas helped her lie back on the ground. “I think there’s something in my guts, _hahren_.”

“Yes, that would be a crossbow bolt.”

“Oh,” she said and chuckled, immediately wincing. “Oh, it hurts to laugh.”

“Do any of you have a kerchief and some whiskey?”

“Just pull it out!” Izzy demanded.

“Hush, _lethallan._ ”

“Screw you…” she managed softly.

Solas chuckled, shaking his head as Cassandra handed over her flask of alcohol and Cullen dug out a kerchief. “You are so charming, _lethallan._ ”

That made Izzy smile, gazing up at the stars through the trees. She smelled the sharp whiskey when Solas opened the flask, soaking the kerchief in it and bringing it to her mouth. “Bite down, Izzy.”

The elf did as requested, biting down on the bundle of whiskey-soaked cloth.

Solas grabbed onto the bolt. “Commander, if you could hold her arms?”

Cullen hesitated beside Cassandra and then did as bid, kneeling down to hold her wrists. She made a soft sound when she saw him but couldn’t speak while gagged. Solas yanked the crossbow bolt out of her. She grunted, sputtering around the kerchief.

Minaeve appeared from the darkness with another torch. She handed it to Cassandra and knelt beside Solas, flooding the Inquisitor with more healing magic. 

Izzy spit out the kerchief and started to get up, pushing away from the ground. “Thank you, Solas and Minaeve. Appreciate it. I’m fine now.” She turned around to walk away.

“Izzy—“ Cullen started.

“It’s fine.” 

“If you’re going to be stubborn, I can be just as stubborn,” Cullen said loudly.

The others glanced at him and started to ease away. 

The commander’s comment made Izzy turn around. “Stubborn about what? They healed my wound. I thanked them.”

“You won’t even look at me,” Cullen said, quieter as the others disappeared. “You’ve been avoiding me for days.”

“Well, you seemed…angry. And—you’re right to. I shouldn’t have lied to you.” 

“I shouldn’t have just…walked out like I did,” Cullen said. “I was…angry, yes. But…I don’t…” he huffed. “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t have to be kind just because I’m reckless. I like fighting. It’s one of the few things I’m pretty good at. It makes everything else….fall away. Yeah, I get hurt sometimes—but I usually don’t. I’m sure the rest are feeling smug and holding back on their I-told-you-sos because, big shock, the rotten elf lied to everyone.”

“Izzy—“

“You’re a better person than me,” she interrupted. “And I…I know that. You’re a good man and you deserve better. I don’t deserve how…good you were to me. And—I’m sorry. I’m…I’m really sorry. For all the good it does.”

She turned away again and Cullen bounded forward, grabbing her arm and spinning her back around to face him. “Stop walking away from me,” he demanded, looking frustrated. “I’m trying to talk to you and you’re trying to drive me away. Stop it. You don’t get to decide what decisions I make. I _want_ to talk to you. It has nothing to do with kindness or pity and _everything_ to do with…with…” he looked at the ground, “….with….us,” he managed, voice nearly a murmur. “I…when I….you weren’t an idle distraction for me. I told you, I haven’t _wanted_ anyone in my life in a very long time. And I’m not willing to let it die for one mistake when we barely knew each other and you couldn’t be certain that we wouldn’t have you executed. You lied to protect yourself.”

“I lied about other things too,” Izzy said quietly, looking away from him.

“I know—I’ve heard. The others told me the different stories you’d recited about why you left your clan. That you talked around speaking about your family when they asked you about them. Cole knew right from the beginning. I know he spoke to Solas about it. So yes, you lied about a lot things to me and to the others….but when I was at the Ferelden Circle—I commanded the Hero of Ferelden to murder innocent mages.”

“Cullen—no—that was different. You had been tortured, Cullen. You shouldn’t beat yourself up for that. You saw your friends tortured and killed. And Bryndis—she didn’t kill them.”

“And I hated her for it, then. Now, I’m grateful that she didn’t. But after my failure in Kirkwall, the Inquisition was my chance to atone, to start over. It can be yours too.”

“You didn’t fail Kirkwall, Cullen—“

“How did it take six years for me to finally act?” Cullen pushed his fingers into her hair. “I know I should have done more and I should have done it sooner. I was too blinded by anger and fear. But now with the Inquisition, I’m doing everything I can to change who I was. You can do the same. You don’t need to lie to us anymore. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“And if we find out that that Tevinter is responsible for killing everyone? What then? I can’t imagine they won’t throw me in chains for that. They would be absolutely justified.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“And how would you stop them?”

“If they want to hurt you, then they have to go through me first.”

Izzy started, blinking up at him. She stared at him silently for a moment before managing, “I…I don’t deserve that from you. From anyone. I don’t—“

“I’ll be the judge of what you deserve from me.” Cullen pulled her to him and embraced her. “Just promise me: no more lies.”

She nodded against his chest and then buried her eyes in his collarbones. “I promise. No more lies.”

 

 

It was another week before they reached Halamshiral, where a large manor was given over for their use and Josephine got a small army of tailors and seamstresses to put the finishing touches on everyone’s new clothes. The advisers and Cassandra all wore matching uniforms. Everyone else opted for something particular to each of them.

Izzy was uncomfortable in dresses and so Josephine had made for her, a suit. It was dark silver and green, the trousers tucked into a new pair of leather boots. The top was a long waistcoat. It buttoned down to her hips and then flared out to drape down to her knees. Weapons were not permitted inside Halamshiral but daggers were considered an acceptable exception. So two went to her hip and one inside her boot. Josephine also had someone paint her _valleslin_ with silver paint.

“Wouldn’t we _not_ want to remind the nobles that I’m an elf?”

“There is nothing we can do about their racism—but we can use it against them. Wear it like armor and it cannot be used against you, my lady. It will be your mask, to them.”

Still, she felt very exposed when she was in a carriage and pulling up to the palace. Her hands went cold and she felt frozen in her seat. Sera leaned over and clapped her on the shoulder, flaunting canary yellow and green. “Come on, then, Ladybits. Don’t tell me these fops scare you more than the Rifts?”

“Yes. That is the case,” Izzy told her.

Sera laughed, shoving the carriage door open. “You’ve never been around places like this, yeah? Steal all the food you can and anything that isn’t nailed down. We’ll make a killing here.”

“Sera,” Cassandra said darkly.

The elf sighed. “All right, all right. Follow someone’s lead that isn’t mine.” She winked at her.

It was a bit overwhelming but fortunately, Cassandra stuck close by when Duke Gaspard approached. The former prince took her hand and kissed it, dragging his eyes over her in a weird, searching sort of way. He rattled off a short speech that she assumed he had practiced beforehand from the careful control he had when he hinted around getting her to murder some other elf.

Her introduction to the court had a lot of titles, most of which she’d never heard before. Her throat felt like it was closing up and her eyes were blurry with nerves and hot candle light. But somehow, she managed to walk with her advisers to the Empress, who she greeted per Josephine’s careful coaching. 

It was a relief to be dismissed from all the eyes that were on her. 

Leliana pulled Cullen aside and waved down Izzy. “You both should know, especially you, Cullen—Morrigan is here.”

Cullen started, jolting in place. “Morrigan? The witch that was with you and Bryndis—“

“Yes. She’s the occult adviser to the Empress.”

“How on the Maker’s blighted earth did she manage that?”

“Morrigan could be ruthless but she wasn’t stupid.”

“Is this lady bad?” Izzy asked.

They both hesitated. Leliana answered eventually with, “Not….exactly. But sort of. I mean…she is…difficult to predict. But—very logical.”

“She definitely doesn’t hold back,” Cullen agreed. 

“What do you mean?”

Leliana smiled a little. “If she thinks you’re an idiot—she’ll tell you. Loudly.”

“Very loudly,” Cullen agreed. “You should hear what King Alistair has said about her. The things she’s said to him—many a brave man would not dare.”

Izzy chuckled. “She sounds interesting.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Leliana said. “Just be careful. She _is_ ruthless, extremely intelligent and very manipulative. And she’s a mage—well, a witch—but honestly, not a lot of difference. Her mother is Flemeth.”

Izzy’s jaw dropped. “Flemeth—the _Woman of Many Years_ Flemeth? _That_ Flemeth?”

“So they both said. The same woman who saved Alistair and Bryndis at Ostagar and who saved Jon Hawke outside of Lothering when the darkspawn reached them.”

“Holy shit,” Izzy said quietly.

“Exactly, so just…be careful if you run into her. She may have something to do with all this.”

As it turned out, she didn’t run into Morrigan until much later in the evening, by then she’d explored most of the palace. The woman was beautiful and sly, enough to put her on edge but she seemed to want to help. 

When she made it back to the ballroom, she saw Cullen attempting to fend off some nobles. She bristled silently and Leliana seemed to choke on a laugh. “What is wrong with those idiots? He just said he doesn’t want anything to do with them.”

“He’s trying to be polite. He hasn’t punched anyone yet, Izzy.”

She scowled. 

And then Cullen said, “Did you just—grab me!”

The man beside him tittered. “I could not help myself!”

Leliana might have said her name, but she couldn’t really hear much for all the blood that whooshed passed her pointed ears. Izzy _stalked_ up to him, arms crossed but a big angry smile pasted on. “Commander Cullen! How are you this evening?” 

“Are you married, Commander?” one of the noble women asked. 

“Excuse me, _miss_. Maybe you didn’t see that I’m talking to my commander right now.”

“I-Inquisitor,” Cullen started. 

“I know it’s difficult, being a noble in Halamshiral,” Izzy went on, smile turning sharp and glaring. “You have to try to pay attention to other people and listen when they tell you _difficult_ things. Like, _I don’t want to dance_ or _I’m not interested in any of you_ or—“ Her hand flashed out, grabbing a noble women by her wrist when she tried to touch Cullen. “Or _don’t touch my Commander ever again or I will break your arms and then gut you_.”

The nobles surrounding Cullen all took a step back. Izzy flung the noble’s wrist back to her. “I know it’s very difficult. But if you disrespect my commander again, I will literally tear your arms off and beat you to death with them. And then I’ll open a rift and throw you inside. Who knows where you’ll end up then?”

The nobles scattered.

Izzy huffed and looked up at Cullen, who managed another half second before he burst out laughing. “You probably shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

“Probably not.” She grinned at him.

“You are the best, Dora.”

She laughed a little. “I suppose they’re going to run away and tell the other nobles on me. Oof, adrenaline just…hit me like a brick. I…just…” she shook her head, putting her hands on her hips. “Saw red, I guess.”

Cullen lightly touched her elbow, smiling warmly at her. “You did warn me that you would defend me, as I defended you.”

“Just don’t tell Josephine. She might skin me alive.”

“You have my silence, Inquisitor.”

“I hate to interrupt, Inquisitor,” Dorian said, as he suddenly appeared beside them, smirking. “But I’m afraid you owe me a dance before we are dragged back to the search.”

“Oh! Anything for you, Dorian,” Izzy said, taking his hand when he offered it and letting him lead her to the dance floor. “Have you managed to get a dance out of Hawke yet?”

Dorian did a slight double-take at her. “With Hawke?”

Izzy raised her eyebrows at him.

“Ah, well. I. I had not. I thought Cassandra might.”

She snorted. “Cassandra would never ask. And besides…from the way he talks about Anders…I kind of wonder if they were….close.”

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up. “He might…prefer the company of….men?”

“Well, only one way to find out, right?” She smiled encouragingly at her fellow mage. “Besides, look around you—it’s not a big deal here. If you dance with any men—no one will weirded out.”

“I _am_ from Tevinter, Izzy.”

“Yeah, well—you’re also very handsome. People who are good-looking can often be forgiven much easier than those of us who are plain or ugly. And if anyone gives you any shit, that’s when you come get me. And either I’ll sort them out or Iron Bull will.”

Dorian spun her in a flawless circle. “Why are you interested in who I dance with?”

She snorted. “Because…you’re….” she glanced away a little. “You’re my friend. And you’ve been…you’ve been kinder to me than almost anyone else. All I had to do was give you a chance. You wanted to prove yourself. And you have.”

Dorian’s eyes warmed to her. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“Yeah well. Just make sure you ask him to dance—he’s seemed kind of sad lately.”

“Then you best get a dance out of the Commander.”

“He doesn’t dance,” Izzy reminded him.

Dorian smirked. “I wonder about that.”

 

 

And then they were off again, scrounging up blackmail material and looting various rooms until they had enough to confront Duchess Florianne and blackmail Gaspard, Celene and an elven ambassador called Briala to work together. Who knew if their trifecta of power would last—but it, at least, stopped further bloodshed in the palace. 

Sera was halfway to drunk by the time Izzy found herself putting on a show for the whole court and exposing the duchess. The other elf was chatting up a princess from Rivain. When the guards drug the duchess off—then the party really started. 

She had to admit, she was surprised when she spotted Minaeve. The apprentice was dressed in a lovely honey-gold gown, looking nervous as she approached Solas. They seemed to exchange a few words and then Solas offered his hand out to her. Izzy clapped her hands in delight, making Iron Bull snorted on a laugh. 

“When did that start?” Izzy asked.

“How do you know it’s anything? Maybe he’s just asking her for a dance. He seems to like these parties,” Bull said, grinning.

“Okay, that’s true. He did comment on how he enjoyed the…heady blend of power, intrigue and sex.”

Iron Bull choked on a swallow of mead. Dorian burst out laughing from his other side. “What!”

“I swear, that’s what he said.”

“Wow, he’s a little more randy than I would have suspected.”

“Right!” Izzy agreed. “He must be hiding a lot of intensity behind that mask of indifference.”

“Lucky Minaeve,” Dorian said approvingly. 

“Good for her, really,” Bull agreed. “She’s always polite and shy but she doesn’t take anyone giving her shit either. She’ll be able to handle him when he acts like an asshole.”

“Are we really at that point?” Varric asked, leaning against the railing of the mezzanine. “We’re now discussing each other’s love lives?”

“Point taken, Varric—I haven’t seen you on the dance floor with your crossbow yet.” Izzy crossed her arms.

“Bianca is a very particular lady. But not really suited for dancing.”

“Oh, so you’re jealous?” Dorian asked, grinning.

“Phht! No!” Varric snorted. “Bianca is more than enough for me.”

“That hussy. This whole time, all I’ve wanted is Varric,” Izzy told him, mock-heartbroken and trying not to laugh as she batted her eyelashes. 

“You’ve been cockring blocked again!” Dorian said.

All four of them choked on laughter. 

“That was a good one, Dorian!” Izzy high-fived him. 

Cole appeared on Varric’s other side. “There are so many thoughts here. But I can’t help anyone. And their faces…are….strange.”

“Cole! Oh, come on, Cole! Let’s test out your dance moves!” Izzy offered her hands out to him.

That made the spirit smile but he shook his head. “It’s hard to listen with your feet and your heart at the same time. And besides—you want to dance with someone else. He’s not angry with you anymore.”

Izzy huffed and sighed. “He doesn’t dance, Cole.” She looked up at Iron Bull. “Make sure he dances with _someone_ , Bull. It’ll be good for him. I’m gonna go get more wine.”

She found a servant with a tray of glasses and took one when offered, making sure to give the elf a tip in thanks. She took her glass out to the balcony and sat on the railing while she drank it down. One boot braced on the railing, the other dangling over the edge, drinking the best wine she’d ever tasted in the fanciest place she’d ever been in. Surrounded by dancers and exquisite people and so many flowers—the scent of lilac and crystal grace floated up from the gardens below like a heady perfume. It mixed with the blood on her clothes. She reached up, touching her collar, forcing some of the dried blood to flake off—it was making her neck itch. As sad as all the death was, as unfair as it was—they were all accustomed to seeing it. The nobles partied on while the servants cried downstairs for those lost. She drank down the rest of the wine, sucking at her teeth like it might wring the last drop of flavor from them. She peered up into the night sky.

A light touch on her shoulder brought her back to down.

“I was looking for you,” Cullen said quietly, standing beside her. 

“Oh, sorry—I was just…getting some air.”

“Are you all right?”

She sighed. “Just…tonight was long. Very long.” 

Cullen gently touched her shoulder again. “I know things have been…a bit strained. But…I was worried for you, you know? That sounds silly, I suppose.”

“Ha, even though I get too…aggressive and lose my head sometimes.”

“I don’t think any of those nobles would dare speak against you now. And they haven’t spoken to me either. So I’m grateful, even if no one else is.”

She smiled a little. “Thank you, Cullen.”

Cullen watched her look down at the gardens for a moment. “I may never get the chance otherwise, so—my lady—would you dance with me?”

She blinked and looked up at him. “You said you didn’t dance. You don’t have to—“

“I want to…. _vhenan_. Did I say that right?”

She laughed and turned herself around to get off the railing. “You said it perfectly.” 

 

 

When they left the palace for the night, she rode back in a carriage with Cullen. She leaned against his chest and he had an arm around her shoulders. At the manor, Sera and Dorian, Hawke and some of the others headed to the reading room to smoke hash and gossip. Solas went walking with Minaeve, Cassandra headed off to bed. And wordlessly, Cullen and Izzy headed upstairs. They hesitated outside his door.

“Well….um. Good night,” she said softly.

“Would you like to come in?” Cullen asked her quietly.

Her breath escaped in a rush. “Gods, yes.”

Cullen smiled crookedly, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her inside after him. He shut the door by pushing her against it. Their mouths met in a tangled rush. His fingers scrambled at her waistcoat, pulling buttons apart and pushing it from her shoulders while she unclasped his jacket.

He chuckled a little. “Have to let this jacket out a little.”

“You’re right,” she said. “It can’t contain all this manliness.”

That made him laugh out loud. She cut him off with a kiss, smiling against his grin. He pulled the laces of her trousers loose. “Maker, I’ve missed you,” he breathed as he kissed her right ear and then moved down to her throat. That distracted her, as it always did. It always made her shudder when he kissed her throat. He felt her breath in quietly as her fingers tripped over his belt to uncoil it. He scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his hips so he could lean in and kiss her breast. Her fingers bit into his shoulder when he reached a nipple, lathing his tongue over it and then taking it in his mouth. Her spine arched against the wall, into his hands as he drug them up her spine. 

And then he spun them around, going to the bed to put her on it so he could kneel over her. A servant had lit the candles in his room just before they’d arrived back at the manor. It made the room feel cozy, though dim and a heady incense was burning on a stone stand by the dressing mirror. Cullen pulled her boots off and then her trousers, eager to get her bare, to let his hands drift over that warm, sun-browned skin. It was covered in scars, scrapes, bruises, scabs and some blood from the evening’s events. And underneath that, the scent of something lingered on her skin. It smelled like oranges and cream and chamomile. He wanted to bury his nose in her throat to take in that scent as deeply as he could. But he didn’t. Instead, he kissed her mouth, trying to put into action what he had trouble putting into words. He _had_ missed her. They’d avoided each other for almost three weeks before they’d talked on the side of the road on the way to Halamshiral. He hadn’t really…realized how she made him smile. How her silly jokes made him laugh. And from how tightly she held onto him, he could surmise that she missed him as well. Not to mention how fiercely she’d threatened to murder the nobles who wouldn’t leave him alone. He hadn’t quite expected that level of…well, aggression. Though, perhaps it was similar to when that strange man with the questions had appeared in her room and scared her. He’d been about a hair’s width away from beating him senseless. And well, she _had_ said that she would have done the same for him. Cullen braced himself on his elbow above her, combing fingers through her hair. 

“Are you all right?” she asked him softly, searching his expression. 

“I’m just….I’ve never…you wanted to protect me. I’ve never…really had someone do that before.”

Her eyes widened and she glanced aside. “I hope it didn’t…embarrass you. I know it’s different for men, I guess. They don’t want to feel like they…need protecting—“

“Dora,” he said, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Only a weak man, a fool, would be upset about someone he loved defending him.”

Her gaze came back up to him. “I…” she swallowed hard. “I…love you, you know. I mean. I do. I…I never really cared about having to lie a lot. Not until you. I felt awful about lying to you. And I’m so sorry. I am so, _so_ sorry.”

“Dora—it’s done. Remember? You’re forgiven.”

“But—how can you…trust me at all now?”

“So long as you don’t lie about anything like that again…then it will be like it never happened. We’ll start over. What do the elves say when they love someone?”

She looked slightly embarrassed again. “We say, _Ar lath ma._ The order is the same as common Thedas. The word for ‘I’ changes sometimes, depending on the word used after it. _Ir abelas_ , I’m sorry. But for that its—“

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” he repeated and kissed her. “You ramble when you’re nervous, you know. You don’t need to be.” He kissed down her throat again, skimming his tongue along her collarbones before heading down to her breast, massaging one with his palm while he sucked at the other. He let one hand stay, the other slid down to cup her hip. He followed it with his mouth, gently kissing down to her inner thigh, hearing her take in a shuddering breath. He gently moved her thighs apart with both hands and dipped his fingers inbetween, opening her folds. He felt a slight tremble in her muscles and he dipped into her heat with his tongue, sweeping over that small nub and hearing her cry out softly. He suckled at that pearl of pleasure, focusing only there, immersing her in that feeling. His fingers parting her folds, he felt the heat intensify, felt her become slick. The scent of her flooded his eyes with heat. The soft, strangled sounds she made that she was trying hard to silence—but couldn’t. Bringing her to the edge, feeling her tremble and how her hips jerked, straining against his palms as she moaned. Her head tilted back against his pillow, taking desperate breaths as her body racked with pleasure. He worked her through it before shifting, sliding up her body to capture her mouth. Her arms wrapped around him immediately, fingernails digging into his back. His cock, hard and red and seeping, slid up against her folds, making the both of them shudder. She kissed him harder, a hand dragging into his hair and curling around the strands. 

“My hero,” he murmured and winked at her before he slid a hand down to her thigh to take his length in hand. He brushed it against her entrance, gathering some of her slickness and then eased inside of her.

She swallowed a breath and chuckled. “I…haha…I see what you did there. And I—ah!”

He kissed her again as he seated himself fully. He ground himself into her, holding her hips. “Stay still, now,” he said gently, as if she had any choice in the matter. “I’m afraid you’re simply going to have to endure what pleasure I give you.” He watched her eyes dilate, big and dark and hungry. He shifted slowly inside of her, pulling back and then slamming into her—so she could take him in, deep, pushing that spot inside of her that made her writhe against him. He breathed hard against her throat, into her ear, feeling how she shuddered, pulsing around him. It made him jerk against her, thrusting into her, working her slowly, thoroughly until she started to tighten up around him. He kept one palm pinning her hip, the other tangled into her hair as he pulled back and thrust again, faster and rougher. The sound of flesh slamming against hers, her breasts rolling with the force of him, how she grabbed into the blanket to anchor herself for him. And she tightened almost unbearably around him. He came with a long, low moan, rolling his hips into her, letting her milk him for everything he had. Her spine arched and he slid a hand to her folds, massaging her—it took barely three slow circles before she tightened up again, coming around him, drawing him deeper. Their heat coalesced into something mind-numbing. Cullen rested his forehead against her temple, drawing one last pulse into her depths, giving a satisfied moan in her ear. His head was blinded with pain for a moment—he must have forgotten to breath. He trembled as he sunk down onto her and she wrapped her arms around him, welcoming his weight. 

“I missed you,” she murmured faintly to him. 

Cullen embraced her and then pulled a quilt over them as the sweat cooled on their skin. “Adamant will be dangerous.”

“I know,” she agreed, nuzzling his cheek. “But we’ll fight together.”

They let the darkness take them and they slept soundly for the first time in three weeks.

-  
-  
-  
-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I dunno about any of you, but when I'm romancing Cullen--I found myself becoming _extremely_ aggressive at the Winter Palace.


	9. To The Elves of Halamshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izzy started. He was _human_. Anaris was….human? Wait, _Ghilan’nain_!? Her Anchor pulsed.
> 
>  _This isn’t a dream. I’m awake. This is a memory._
> 
> She’d never entered a memory before. Only Dreamers could do that, right?

“Hey knife-ear. Knife-ear! What the fuck, I’m talking to you. Hey!”

A man reached out and snatched her by the arm.

Izzy jumped, startled. “You’re not talking to me right?”

“Uh, do you see any other knife-ears around?” The man was a noble. Apparently, he thought she was one of the servants.

Izzy huffed. “You lot are awful to the people who fetch your drinks for you. You ever thought about that?”

The man blinked at her. “What?”

“I’m the Inquisitor. So, remove your hand before I cut your arm off.”

The noble jerked back from her. “You? A Dalish savage? _You’re_ the Inquisitor?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Izzy grumbled as she turned to walk away. “Fuck this Winter Palace bullshit,” she mumbled to herself. “I hate this place.” 

She found herself at the door to the servants’ quarters. She watched herself reach for the knob. Wasn’t it odd that Lady Morrigan hadn’t shown her a body? Wasn’t it odd that she didn’t know where the key went if she lived here? If she was as crafty as Leliana made it sound—wouldn’t someone like that have already infiltrated the servants? 

She knew what would be behind the door. She could already smell it. Her stomach was turning. It was metallic and thick. Blood. But it was in the back of her head, she knew but couldn’t quite seem to make it come forward. She could only watch herself turn the knob. 

She opened the door to the bloodbath.

Forty-three elves were in the servants’ quarters. Only two of them were alive. 

She and Solas stood in the kitchens with Cole and Varric. Cole made a pitiful sound next to her and she reached out absently to touch his arm. Everything had happened so fast…not even any time to show respect for the dead. And out by the water fountain, the last survivor running frantically…

And she stood there like a statue. She just watched the harlequin cut her down. 

_Why didn’t I do something? Why didn’t I move? I couldn’t save any of them._

The nobles would remember the Inquisitor saving the empress, the empire. No one would remember forty-one dead elves, almost all of them innocent servants, killed because of the very nobles she’d saved. 

There was a line there somewhere that crossed from hero to villain and she wasn’t sure which side her actions were on. Did forty-one civilians fall within the acceptable parameter of collateral because Corypheus was such a monumental threat?

That didn’t seem right.

To be fair to herself, she hadn’t known it was happening until it was already done but she had wasted time drinking some of the wine and jealously grumbling over stupid nobles who wouldn’t leave Cullen be. He could take care of himself. He didn’t need her. Forty-one innocent elves had needed her. If she hadn’t wasted so much time, could she have saved some of them?

Now she would never know.

Now she would fall to her knees in the blood, watching it soak into her stupid dress clothes and feeling someone take hold of her right ear. 

“Time to finish what was begun,” Solas said softly. And the knife bit into her flesh—

 

 

 

Izzy jumped awake, grabbing at the blanket on top of her and frantically kicking it off. She curled her legs underneath her, drawing up to the headboard. 

Ah. She was still in Cullen’s room. 

The Templar woke in a flash, eyes open and alert. He sat up slowly. “Dora?”

She shook out her hands, grabbing onto her right ear. “I…I…h-had a bad dream. Sorry.”

“It’s all right…” Cullen said carefully. He touched her left ear so he could gently turn her face to his. “Is it about last night?”

“Yes…” she scrubbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m usually…uh…it’s just….” She took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“Dora,” Cullen said again, searching her eyes.

“It was just…” she glanced down. “…a lot of elves died last night. And no one will remember them. Because they were servants. They were elves. They don’t matter to these nobles.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cullen said gently. “You didn’t know. Corypheus is who we blame for this.”

“That’s….” she shook her head. “….that feels wrong.”

“You’re the Inquisitor but you can only do so much. You’re only mortal.”

She rubbed at her eyes, frustrated. “I just…I know I can’t…understand their experience because I grew up Dalish and they grew up around humans…but…I just wish I could do something. I don’t know. So that they would know they aren’t just….forgotten....”

Cullen tilted his head curiously, thinking about that. “We could, Dora. The clean-up will likely start today. I could inquire with the steward what will be done with the bodies and if they don’t have a plan, than we could do something for them.”

Izzy’s eyes slowly lifted, staring at Cullen as if she’d never quite seen him before. “Even if we just….just could burn them—respectfully….and…if they have families…they…”

“We could offer them a place in the Inquisition if they desired it.”

Cullen watched something strange come over Izzy’s face. Her dark brown hair was messy and tangled and her green eyes were wet, stubbornly fighting the sudden tears. She was so rough most of the time but something changed in her expression as she looked at him. Something almost…well…

It reminded him of Cole. Something honest, sad….vulnerable. She was letting him see it without any pretense. Her eyes got a bit wider and she was giving him this look like she couldn’t quite believe he was real. 

“Cullen….” She said faintly. “…you…you would do that?”

“Yes,” he said simply, watching how her eyes scanned over him like flitting birds.

She stared at him for another moment and then leaned in and embraced him. He felt her tremble as she wrapped her arms around him, threading her fingers into his hair. She held tightly to him. “I would…like to do that.”

 

 

 

Two hours later, she and Cullen, Solas, Sera and Varric, Cole, Dorian, Hawke and Iron Bull all stood out by the water. Izzy had unleashed a mouthful of creative swearwords at several of the human guards, who they’d caught looting the dead elves. They took over themselves after that. Except Sera, who was strange about handling the dead. She didn’t like seeing them in pieces. It made them become things in her head and she didn’t seem to like that. Izzy asked Sera to simply direct the guards in bring them wood instead.

Several families of city elves had shown up to try and check on their loved ones. The few servants who had survived the massacre brought the families forward to meet the elven Inquisitor. 

Izzy had never really felt overly connected to the elves. She’d never really known any city elves, being raised among the Dalish. She’d known a few in Tevinter but they had been slaves. Sera was the first city elf she’d ever really become friends with. Yes, she’d known a few, played cards with a few, but never became good friends with them. There was some sort of disconnect, like they expected her to be a snob because of the tattoos on her face. She couldn’t blame them for that, now that she’d met Dalish elves from other clans—and heard about Solas’ and Sera’s experience with them. 

But at that moment, when she kept hearing that stupid noble call her _knife-ear_ in her head and that last survivor being ripped to pieces and the screaming…the screaming….

It was like the slave pits. She _hated_ the screaming. It made her feel helpless. It made her limbs feel slow and stupid and nauseated. 

And now she stood with their families, explaining over and over again what had happened as bodies were carefully carried out to the pier. She showed them the box of things Cullen, Solas and Iron Bull had forced the guards to give up after they caught them stealing from the bodies so the families might claim any personal trinkets. 

And then they all watched as Minaeve appeared and wrapped each body. Many followed the Maker, having grown up in human cities. A few still honored the elven gods. Izzy scratched her hair and quietly said the eulogy that the Keeper usually sang at funerals.

She was quiet about it—saying it mostly to herself. Sera surprised her a little because faintly, under her breath, Izzy could hear her humming it with her. Solas just stood in silence, hands clasped behind his back. 

“I know this song,” Leliana said quietly, appearing at her side. “Do you mind if I sing it? Bryndis taught it to me.”

Izzy nodded quietly.

The bard’s bell-like voice rang out in solemn reverence. It was strange to hear it in common Thedan. Izzy had never heard it sung by a human before. She repeated it in elven afterwards as the torches were lit and with them, the hungry flames fed on the wooden pyre, spreading over the bodies. 

A few nobles were watching curiously from the balconies of the palace but none came down to interfere. 

Briala did, however. She peered curiously at Sera and Solas, lingering on the mage before coming forward to make herself known to the Inquisitor.

Izzy nodded to her a little. “Briala,” she said quietly. 

“You follow elven gods, I take it.”

“Yes—I was raised with elven gods.”

Briala seemed to study her. “Do you know much about them?”

“I know a fair amount.”

“What do you know about Fen’Harel?”

Solas looked sidelong at Briala, seeming curious about her interest.

“Probably a bit more than some, less than some others,” Izzy said, glancing at Solas with a smile. “I could share it with you, Briala, if you wanted.”

The elf studied her and then looked at Solas again, peering at him and nodded. “I will have lunch arranged, Inquisitor. Your companions are welcome, of course. When you’re done here, come to the garden fountain. I will meet you there.”

As the elf turned to walk away, Sera peered over Izzy’s head, right at Solas.

The mage seemed to feel her gaze and looked over, catching Sera’s eye. They both had a rare moment where they exchanged a glance. “Maybe elfy-elf here and I should go with you,” she said airily. “It’ll be stupid and boring probably but she’s a tricky one. What’s she give a crap about elven gods?”

“She grew up with the Maker—perhaps she’s simply interested in history,” Solas suggested.

“I can’t really blame her. I was curious about the Maker when I first went to human cities,” Izzy said. “And apparently, we Dalish have a reputation.” She chuckled. “She’s gonna be disappointed when _hahren_ here kicks my ass and shows he knows way more than me.”

“Wasn’t the first human cities you spent extended time in, in Tevinter?” Sera asked. “Not sure their Maker is the same as our Maker.”

On Solas’ other side, Dorian perked. “What? You did?”

Izzy glanced sidelong at Leliana.

“Cullen did tell some of us. Word spreads.”

Izzy sighed. “I guess that’s fair after everything I lied about. Yes, I was in Tevinter for about a year. They thought I was an escaped slave, not that it really mattered. I’m Dalish, so no one notices when a few of us go missing.”

“Was there a meeting or something? I don’t think I was at that meeting,” Dorian said, looking at Izzy. Something in his face shifted. “You…were treated as a slave?”

Izzy shrugged and tilted her shorn left ear towards him. She tapped it. “This happened while I was there. They thought I was a run-away.”

Dorian’s expression went ashy-grey. He looked down, suddenly hearing every comment he’d ever made about servants and slaves in his head. Usually during arguments with Solas. 

Hawke gently touched the mage’s elbow. “Dorian? You all right?”

Dorian swallowed hard. “I…” he cleared his throat. “I think I might have a drink.”

“I don’t blame _you_ , Dorian,” Izzy said, stepping towards him, lifting a hand to placate him. “You’re from Tevinter but you’re not a slaver.”

“I…but when we discussed slavery I said that…you’d never been a slave and what would you know about it. I…I assumed…”

“Well, you just didn’t know,” Izzy reminded him and shrugged. 

Dorian stared at her. “No…I…I didn’t know…” he looked at the burning pyre. “I never…. _knew_ slaves. Not…how I know all of you. The idea of you being a slave…” he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Dorian, it’s okay. I lied to all of you. You didn’t know.”

“But if I had…would it have made a difference?” Dorian asked quietly, more to himself than to them. “I barely knew you. Would I have been indifferent to you…” 

“There are good Tevinters and bad Tevinters, Dorian. Just like there are good elves and bad elves. And _worse_ elves.” She threw a look at Sera, which made the thief burst out laughing. “All dwarves are great, right?” She asked Varric.

“No.”

“And Qunari are….” Izzy looked at Iron Bull. “….neutral? Sort of.”

“Sort of.”

“You are a great example of a human, Dorian. You’ve never called me knife-ear or been disrespectful to me, Solas or Sera. You know? I mean…you’re fine, Dorian.”

Dorian took a deep breath. “Perhaps so…I…I should go drink before we continue on to Adamant.” He turned to walk away.

Hawke hesitated, looking after the other mage. 

Izzy sighed softly. “Poor Dorian. He thinks so little of himself.”

“What?” Sera asked, looking at her like she’d grown a second nose on her forehead.

“Come on, Sera. People who act like him—he’s so over-the-top that he’s half-trying to convince _himself_ that he’s a good person. He….sees himself as a failure—so he pretends that he’s amazing…so that when people insult him, he can just let it roll off. Like water on a duck’s back.”

Iron Bull looked away from them all, crossing his arms silently. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Blackwall grumped.

“No one asked _you_ , Blackwall.” Izzy glared at him.

The Warden scowled. “He has the same problem as Madame Vivienne. Too much self-regard. The most poisonous snakes are sometimes very beautiful.”

“Or maybe Vivienne is more like Dorian.” Izzy glowered at him. “But I suppose it’s much easier when you pretend that everyone you don’t like is an evil monster.”

“I see wrong and I go after it. I’m a soldier.”

“Yeah and also a Grey Warden. I’m not expecting miracles but I do expect some basic competence. What’s your problem—are you afraid that _you_ are an evil monster.”

Blackwall tensed a little.

At Sera’s side, Cole suddenly said, “There are voices. There are voices. I can hear them. Oh Maker, no, there are children. There weren’t supposed to be—“

“You are an insane demon,” Blackwall growled, grabbing tightly to the hilt of his sword.

The spirit stared at the Warden. “Why don’t you hear the song?”

Beside Izzy, Leliana’s eyes sharpened, shooting up to Blackwall and then looking at Cole. _An attack where children were present but unexpected? Why would a Grey Warden be at an attack where children weren’t supposed to be? Wardens went everywhere. Children were often victims of darkspawn. Only a planned attack didn’t have the possibility of children…_

The Inquisitor didn’t notice. There was only about ten feet between Blackwall and Cole; Izzy stepped into it with her palms out. “Whoa, Blackwall. You need to calm down. We know how Cole is.”

“I can still hear her. I see her. She stared at me with her hollow eyes and she sings about blind mice and her smoke-stained face with the—“

Blackwall was trembling. The grip on his sword became very tight. He breathed stiffly, staring at Cole in wide-eyed horror and rage.

“Blackwall,” Izzy said, sharper, reaching down to touch her staff. 

The Warden seemed to come back to himself and forcibly uncurled his hand from his swordhilt. “Keep him away from me,” he said darkly and turned to go as well. 

Beside Leliana, Cullen watched the Warden walk away. Only when he was out of sight did he relax his own grip on his swordhilt. 

 

 

 

An hour later, Izzy entered the formally sealed wing of the Winter Palace. Briala had been given this wing for her own use and she did not complain at the state of it. She had a meal prepared—nothing extensive but there were leftovers from the ball and plenty of hot, spiced wine. 

“Please, sit,” Briala said, gesturing to the spread as she led them into the makeshift dining room she had set up, likely on her own. “I appreciate what you did for the elves here. The human guards wouldn't likely have given up what they’d stolen without a fight if I'd gone after them.”

“Ah, it helps when you have Iron Bull. He’s huge.” They all took seats around the table.

“Your Inquisition seems to be more sympathetic to elves than most—I can’t tell if that’s because of you or because they’re actually interested in our plight.” Briala gestured to the table for them to serve themselves.

“Well, there are definitely people who don’t like elves among the Inquisition but I made my position pretty clear. They can either shut the hell up or leave.”

“They must hate how bold you are, Inquisitor.” Briala smiled a little. Her clever eyes moved over Sera and Solas, along with Varric, Cullen and Leliana. Cole ghosted in after the spymaster. Briala did a slight double-take when she caught sight of him. Cole paused, realizing she saw him and _kept_ seeing him. 

Briala peered at the spirit curiously. “Who are _you?_ ”

“I’m Cole,” said Cole, peering back at her. 

“He’s with me,” Izzy said. 

“She’s shiny, bright,” said Cole, tilting his head at Briala.

“Have I seen you before?” Briala asked, staring hard at him. 

Izzy looked between the two. “Perhaps—he was with us last night. He just tends to keep out of the way.”

“You don’t have to worry, Izzy,” Cole said, meeting Briala’s gaze. “She won’t hurt me. She won’t you hurt you either. She doesn’t like hurting people.”

Briala stiffened, staring at him.

“That’s why Felassan picked you,” Cole told her.

Something in Briala’s face, now free of her mask, changed. It was difficult to interpret.

“Who’s Felassan?” Izzy asked.

“He was…a friend,” Briala said carefully. “He went missing recently. How do you know Felassan, boy?”

“I don’t. But you miss him.”

“Cole,” Solas said, a little sharply. “It seems painful to Briala. You should stop.”

“The slow arrow breaks in the sad wolf’s jaws,” Cole said quietly and then sat down next to Leliana.

Briala went pale. She took a deep breath. “You are the spirit I’ve heard about, yes?”

“He didn’t want to hurt him. But he didn’t want to give you up either,” Cole said to his empty plate. 

“Was he an elf?” Izzy asked.

Briala looked at the others and took another deep breath. “He was Dalish, a friend of mine. He had the markings on his face like you do, only they were different.”

“Oh really? What did they look like?” Izzy leaned in, looking interested. 

“Branches of a tree on the forehead.”

“Ah, that’s Mythal.”

“He was the one who told me about the elven gods, especially Fen’Harel.”

Izzy perked. “Was he a Keeper? What was the name of his clan? Maybe I know them?”

Briala looked at her wine cup. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me about his clan.”

“Was he a mage?”

“Yes.”

Izzy looked curious about that. “Hmm, maybe he was a Keeper. Maybe we can help you find him?”

“Perhaps, Inquisitor—but I asked you here to discuss what you know about elven gods, as I know very little. Felassan told me some things but he focused the most on the Dread Wolf.”

“Really?” Izzy said. “He knew a lot about the Dread Wolf? And then…he just…disappeared?” _What if he was the contact I was supposed to make?_

Briala was starting to look a little agitated but she nodded. “Yes.”

Izzy didn’t seem to notice. She thought for a moment and then said, “Did Empress Celene send representatives to the Conclave?”

Briala looked at her curiously. “….yes. She did. Why?”

“I….I was supposed to meet someone there who might know more about the Dread Wolf—but it was blown up before I could confirm. My family was bound to the line of Anaris—did he ever tell you about him?”

“Anaris was one of the dark gods but he did not tell me much else,” Briala poured herself more wine. “It seems that there is a great deal more going on than any of us suspected.”

“Well, maybe Solas can help,” Izzy said brightly, looking to him. “Solas here is one of the most knowledgeable elves I’ve ever met when it comes to our history. He knows a lot more than me.”

“Perhaps you might indicate what Felassan already told you,” Solas said politely. “I do not wish to bore you, Lady Briala.”

The ambassador peered hard at Solas again, like she saw something familiar but couldn’t place it. “No need. Please, tell me everything you know.”

Solas met her gaze silently for a moment and then nodded. “As you wish, ambassador.”

 

 

So for the next hour, Solas explained the elven pantheon, in detail, to Briala. She watched Solas intently the whole time. 

Sera watched Briala, acting supremely bored until Varric took out his pipe and a bag of hash to share with her. Leliana politely refused but Cullen took a pinch for his own pipe when Varric offered it. 

Izzy seemed surprisingly focused on Solas as he spoke. She leaned on one elbow, putting her jaw in her palm and just watching him. He was so focused, so intent, so knowledgeable—like Cullen, only on a different subject. There was something oddly…intriguing about it. His voice was smooth, flowing over the words like a stream of consciousness. 

Suddenly, the room disappeared. Izzy jerked up. The table was still present but the people sitting around it were different. They were all elves. All of them. They were drinking wine and chatting until someone opened the door. 

A handsome man entered, dark-haired and golden-eyed. 

“Lord Anaris,” said one of the elves. She stood up. The elf had beautiful white hair and sparkling dark eyes. 

“Lady Ghilan’nain,” said the dark-haired man.

Izzy started. He was _human_. Anaris was….human? Wait, _Ghilan’nain_!? Her Anchor pulsed.

 _This isn’t a dream. I’m awake. This is a memory._

She’d never entered a memory before. Only Dreamers could do that, right? 

“It’s good to see you, Anaris. Please, sit and drink with us. The alliance with humans has been good for everyone. We’re preparing an envoy to go to the capital and discuss our intent to allow humans to learn magic among us.”

“The war was terrible,” Anaris agreed. “The sooner we can get it behind our peoples, the better, my lady.”

A ragged-looking elf with auburn hair and dark, burning eyes, watched Anaris closely. 

The human seemed to feel it, glancing at the elf. “My lord Falon’Din,” he said and politely bowed his head. 

The elf nodded silently in return. 

“Din is grim as always,” said another elf, standing up. “It’s always a pleasure to see our human brethren.” He had black hair and glittering amber-red eyes. She knew instinctively that this was Dirthamen. “Perhaps we might—“

Someone touched her shoulder. “You can’t control this yet. Step back. You’ll be swept away.”

Izzy looked up and jumped a little, seeing Cole beside her. “Cole?”

“You shimmer brightly, glowing with it. Like Solas. Like me. But not here. Here it will become sharp.”

Izzy looked away from Cole. “No…I…I want to see it….”

“Elgar’nan wrote to me again, I’m afraid,” Anaris was saying. “He brought forward an…unexpected offer, Lady Ghilan’nain.”

“Lord Elgar’nan did?” Ghilan’nain asked him, looking curiously at the others. 

“I thought to discuss it with you before he requests it of us.”

“And what would that be?” Falon’Din asked, voice low and rough.

Anaris hesitated and then said, “He wants to cement our alliance with a marriage. A great joining for peace between the elven and human kingdoms. Between myself and you, Lady Ghilan’nain.”

Ghilan’nain startled, eyes going wide. “Why did he not bring this to me? Why—“

A strange chiming music crept up into Izzy’s ears, filling her head up. Swelling in volume until she could hardly hear the echoes of the past, Izzy covered her ears, trying to silence it. Music, so much music. Everywhere. 

The spot where the red lyrium had marked her suddenly flared hot and painful. Izzy grabbed her side as her vision blurred. She felt ghostly, long fingers grasp into her shoulders—

 

And then she was back in the Winter Palace. Izzy froze, looking around at the others. Varric, Cullen and Leliana did not appear to notice anything amiss. But Sera, sitting next to her, caught her eye. 

“You all right there? You’re sweating.” 

Izzy looked down. “I…uh…yes,” she answered quietly, almost a murmur. 

Across the table, on Leliana’s left side, Cole stared at her. She looked away, noting that Solas had stopped speaking. He and Briala were drinking wine quietly. His explanation appeared to be over. 

Izzy looked down at the Anchor. 

The Anchor gazed back.


	10. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor/Cullen  
> \----------
> 
> Music if you're into that sort of thing:  
> Salem's Secret: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QdIYVXCfrQM
> 
> \---  
> I totally forgot they weren't going back to Skyhold. hahahhahaaha. wooo. Had to go back and edit.  
> \---  
>  
> 
> But things seemed a little strange too. Some kind of odd…rhythm. The way the water dripped was the same pattern. Never changing. A door shut, chatter rose and died, someone asked about those stupid turnips again—
> 
> It was like a strange song. Like the world had music. But it wasn’t peaceful, like she might have expected. It was…different. Pretty tones but….sort of scratchy too….

“This is just. Something to keep the hands busy.”

Izzy lifted an eyebrow, watching Blackwall stand awkwardly in front of a rocking horse. The tent seemed small around him. The rain was loud. “Oh. Okay?” She looked at the rocking horse. “It does seem a little small for you.”

He huffed. “It’s for the children at the refugee camps. For when we get back.”

“All right. Why are you so embarrassed by that? You made something for some kids.” She shrugged. “It’s not stuffed with explosives, right?”

Blackwall scowled at her. “I heard you found something to do with the Wardens while you were in the Hinterlands. I would have _liked_ to have seen it.”

Izzy tilted her head at his tone, furrowing her eyebrows. “Well…it’s not like we _left_ it there, shim-shem. We brought the book back. Leliana has it right now. So…after she’s done with it—you can go. Read it on your own?” She suggested, still a little thrown off by his hostility. “It’s not like she’s gonna _burn_ it afterwards.”

“I'd definitely have words with her if she did that.”

"Besides, with this rain--wait." She furrowed her eyebrows. "I thought you were scared of her?”

“I am. As should anyone when dealing with one of her kind.”

Izzy put her hands on her hips, expression turning cool. “One of _her_ kind?”

“Someone who’s loyalty can be bought. She was a bard. They’re basically hired killers.”

“They’re spies,” Izzy told him tersely. 

“They kill for money.”

“So does Iron Bull. But I don’t hear you talking shit about him.”

“He’s different.”

“How, exactly?”

“He’s direct, he’s straight-forward about it. He doesn’t pretend he’s doing the right thing.”

Izzy paused. “You…. _do_ know he’s Ben-Hassrath, right?”

“So he says,” Blackwall groused. 

“Wow,” Izzy replied, bristling. “You are _really_ judgmental for a Warden.”

“We are different. We only take the best.”

“Well then what the fuck are _you_ doing with them?”

His shoulders stiffened and he glared at her. “You think you’re better than me?”

“Not particularly. But at least I’m honest. You trump up being a Grey Warden like you’re the best out of all of us—“

“Wardens remember sacrifice! The rest of us don’t.”

“Us? So you don’t remember sacrifice? I thought you were a Warden?”

His palm tightened around his chisel. “I am. But who I was before. That man. He didn’t remember sacrifice. He was useless. Now, I’m better.”

“….so you think that makes you better than other people?”

“Wardens remember honor, standing up for—“

“You don’t need to be a Warden to do that. That’s just a personality thing, Blackwall. You cling to it like a security blanket, taking about sacrifice and shit—and yet, you’re all insecure about making a toy for kids? I thought you cared about helping people. What the fuck do you care if someone sees you making a toy? Isn’t a kid being a little bit happy more important than someone who’s dumb enough to mock you for making a toy?”

Blackwall sputtered, scowling. “I—what would you know of it?”

She snorted. “Because I was a Dalish? And we all had to take care of each other, maybe?” 

“Why do you have such a problem with me?”

“Because you’re an asshole!” Izzy finally burst out. “Every word out of your mouth is either insults or its whining about Grey Wardens and how no one understands you. It gets old fast, friend. Not even Templars bitch like you do and they’re controlled by lyrium.”

“They are different. Their vigil is different from our Joining.”

“In what way? Oh, right, you conveniently can’t tell me. Weird how, despite its numbers, no one has _ever_ leaked that secret. Why is that? Doesn’t that seem a little _odd_. That it’s _never_ been leaked?”

“Not to people who value honor and tradition.”

“Oh, so it’s the: _we do it this way because we always have_ thing? Gotcha. Seems to me like it means that not everybody makes it in to the Wardens. And you _never_ meet any Warden drop-outs. So what happens to Wardens who don’t cut it? What happens to them? The Wardens supposedly only take the best, right? So then—“

“What does this have to do with Corypheus?” Blackwall cut her off, starting to look agitated in the dim lantern light. “If you’re just here to pick a fight, leave.”

“I’m not. But your reluctance to share potentially important information about the Wardens because of some super-secret bullshit clause that you think is more important than Corypheus ending the goddamn world? _That_ makes me angry. That you won’t even share anything with Leliana when _she_ was a confidant of the Hero of fucking Ferelden, that’s starting to get on my nerves.”

“So you want to coerce the information from me? I’m disappointed in you.” Blackwall scowled at her, crossing his arms. “I thought you were better than that.”

“Oh, don’t try that passive-aggressive manipulation shit on me. If you’re not here to be helpful, then you can leave. If you can’t give us any information, then you’re useless.”

“I’ve shed my blood for this cause—“

“I don’t need your blood. I need your _information_. It seems to me that when your _entire_ goddamn Order _disappears_ , you would be the most eager to find them. But you can’t even be fucked to tell us if you Wardens can even _sense_ each other. Or just what exactly makes _you_ immune over the entire Warden order—“

“You are a bully and a _monster_ ,” he snapped. “Maybe it was true, what they say about you Dalish elves.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh really? Maybe you’d like to share what you think of elves? Go ahead. By all means, Blackwall.”

“Be careful,” Cole advised, suddenly appearing behind Blackwall. His shadow was tall on the canvas wall.

The Warden whirled around, stepping away from the demon and touching his sword. In a heartbeat, Izzy broke the ice sheath on her staff and brought it around. 

“You attack Cole and I’ll attack _you_ ,” Izzy said, voice dropping low in warning.

Cole looked between the two of them. “You don’t have to fight. You shouldn't fight. Please don't.”

“She insults my honor, the Grey Wardens' honor! I’ll fight for that honor.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped. “Say why you’d attack me, Blackwall. Say it. Don’t pretend it’s about honor. If you had any of that, you’d try to help us—rules be damned. But because you a selfish prick who tries to manipulate people into feeling sorry for you—“ 

Blackwall’s sword scratched out of its sheath. He came at her like a battering ram. She barely threw up a shield in time to throw off his strike. He hit her shoulder and his sword skidded off her armor. Izzy whipped her staff up, striking him in the face and stabbing towards his knee. The Warden spun—he was graceful, powerful, as he slammed his shield into her face and chest. Her nose exploded with blood, stumbling back and tripping to the mud. Rain blurred her vision for a moment and her hair stuck in her eyes. 

“I will fight you for that honor, Inquisitor.”

“What honor? You’d rather see the Order destroyed than bend your stupid rules.” She growled. She blasted him with fire. It seared into him, catching and smoldering at his shirt and hair. His shield turned flaring red and he had to drop it to the ground. She followed up with a quick-shot, grabbing rock from the Fade and bashing him with it. It nearly ripped the sword from his hand. He managed to keep it, running up to her and backhanding his gauntlet across her face. Her blood smeared and then everything went fuzzy for Blackwall when her staff flipped horizontal and smashed into his forehead. 

Suddenly, Cassandra was there, forcing the two of them apart. “What are you two _doing_?!”

“Talking about how Blackwall feels no obligation to actually fucking _help_ us and bitches all the time when he’s not having his hand held by the Inquisition!”

Cassandra’s eyebrows shot up at the venom in her tone. 

“She insults me at every turn,” Blackwall snapped. “I can only take so much, Seeker.”

“Oh, cry harder, asshole!” 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra said sharply. “Calm down. What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Seeker, you understand the dilemma of secrecy versus duty,” Blackwall said imploringly.

“Oh, _now_ you’re suddenly interested in discussing it?” Izzy sneered. “Scared of Cassandra, are you? You’re such a bitch—“

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra snapped. “Go to the commander’s tent.”

Izzy scowled and whirled around, stalking off. 

Cassandra watched her leave, eyebrows furrowed and then looked back at Blackwall. Cole was standing by the rocking horse. “What in Maker’s name was that about?”

“She came down here, we spoke about the refugees. Suddenly she starts in about the Wardens and how I can’t tell her some things because of the secrecy oath. Then the demon appeared. She kept insulting me. I believe all this pressure is getting to her.”

Cassandra watched Blackwall’s eyes, analyzing his pleading expression—like a recruit who was scared of his first inspection. Then she glanced at Cole.

The spirit skimmed his fingers along the back of the rocking horse. “She hears singing.”

“Singing?” Cassandra asked.

“It’s very soft. For now.”

 

 

 

Cullen was in his tent, pouring over maps. His head was pounding. He hadn’t even put on his plate this morning. Adamant was only a day or two away. Yet, it was odd how tired he felt. He’d started having dreams in Halamshiral but that was likely just because he didn’t like being around the Game. Marching was a relief, or a distraction, at least. Izzy had been busy researching something but she always made time for him at the end of the day. Earlier and earlier, it seemed like, sometimes. 

She’d seemed agitated last night when she showed up just after dusk. Whatever she was looking into was taking a lot of work. She was frustrated, wound up. To be honest, he’d had a good day yesterday. But when she showed up, he started feeling an odd, trapped compression in his chest. But she’d shut his tent flaps and wound the leather throngs and become fierce and commanding and he’d ended up _fucking_ her on his desk. Usually after such vigorous sex, he’d sleep soundly. 

But last night…the nightmares suddenly rushed in. 

So much blood. 

He’d woken up feeling vaguely nauseated. It had continued all day. 

And when she walked into his tent again, her face covered in blood and insects pouring from her eyes, he jerked back into his worktable. 

“Cullen,” she rasped. That familiar voice creeping out of her mouth, the demons from the tower, the whispering in his ears. The screaming and blood in Kirkwall.

A cockroach crawled out from between her lips.

Cullen staggered, revulsion flooding him with a blinding panic. “What is wrong with you! What happened!”

She slipped up to him, pressing against him, sliding her palm up his chest. “Without lyrium, they’re worse,” she murmured and pressed her mouth against his.

He choked, felt the insects crawling on his tongue, _eating_ up into his eyes. He tried to yell, to pull away. He choked on blood. Her anchor ripped through him and he slid down the wall. She went with him, straddling his thigh. He felt numb, all his limbs felt too heavy to move. But he could _hear_ their _skittering_. 

She drew her dagger.

He struggled, choking and felt the cold kiss of metal on his throat—then a searing heat—

 

 

 

“Cullen? Cullen! _Cullen!_ ” 

His eyes jerked open. Izzy was looking down at him, face drawn and concerned. 

She had blood on her face.

Cullen jolted, scrambling up and pushing himself back from her. 

“Cullen?” She said softly, not moving forward but lifting a hand towards him. “It’s all right. It’s just me.” She furiously wiped her face off with her sleeve. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He was still in his tent but he was lying on the cold ground. His throat felt thick and closed. Everything was a little blurry. 

“ _Vhenan?_ ” She tried again, quietly.

He blinked a little and his eyes sharpened. He looked at her, sitting against his desk. He broke out in a cold sweat, feeling more nauseous. “I…had….b-bad dreams.” He looked down at that floor, something in his gaze hollowed out.

She jumped up, grabbing her kerchief from her pocket and pouring some water on it from a pitcher at the end of his desk. She knelt to him again, gently wiping his face and erasing faded tear tracks. She combed her fingers through his hair, soothingly. “It’s all right,” she murmured, pulling his forehead to her shoulder and just holding him. 

He breathed quietly for a while until he could look up at her. “What happened?”

She tilted her head and then, “Oh—this—I—uh. Practice. It’s all right. I’m fine. Come on. You should lie down for a while.”

“I just—the dreams are common, I just—“

“Come on, Cullen.” She grabbed his arm to help him stand and urged him outside, leading him across the camp. She took to her own tent and told him to sit while she rebuilt the fire. He went reluctantly, sitting on the edge of her bed and watching her shadow lengthen as the fire perked into life again. She gathered extra quilts before going back to the bed. She knelt in front of him, unlacing his boot, which made him start. “I can—“

“Shush,” she told him sternly as she pulled his boot off and then started on the other. 

“It’s too quiet,” Cullen breathed. “Do you ever feel like that? Like it’s too quiet? Like if you are in the quiet for too long, you’ll start hearing voices that aren’t there.”

She paused as she set his other boot aside and looked up at him. His eyes looked hallow in the shadows. “Or music?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he murmured. His eyes went down to his knees.

She examined his expression, looking a little alarmed. She got between his knees, running her palms over his thighs soothingly. “Cullen….”

It took him a moment to look at her again, seeming unsettled, slightly unhinged even. 

She unraveled the laces of his trousers.

“You don’t have to—“

She took him into her mouth, sucking on the tip of him. His shoulders hunched, fingers clawing into her blanket. She drew back to lick up the shaft and slid her hands in to massage his balls. And then she slid her mouth over him again, taking him halfway, bobbing back and then down more, swallowing around him. He grunted, a burst of breath gasping out of him. “Vhenan,” he managed.

She moaned around him when he said the word, pushing deeper, humming around his cock. 

He leaned over her a little, gritting his teeth when the wave crested over him. He pulsed and she didn’t draw back, swallowing around him again and again and _again_. Until he was reeling and dizzy, breathing hard. She slid off of him, giving him a last lick at the head before moving up his body to kiss him. 

He could taste the salt on her lips. It made him shudder. 

But she urged him to lie down instead of going any further, pulling her quilts up around them. She drew him to her, stroking through his hair again to sooth him.

 

 

 

She was in a dark room, drinking wine. A few candles allowed for bubbles of light, stars in the darkness. 

She felt him behind her, pressed up against her spine, he normally might press her under his chin. But his smooth cheek pressed against the tip of her ear. It seemed cool. He slid his pointed nose along her right ear. Brushing the tips in a way she'd never felt before. Some incredible sense of belonging. So bittersweet and sharp, it was hard to breath. 

His fingers were slender, gliding around her waist. In a twinkling, he had her jacket open. Everything slid away. Until he had her in his large palm, massaging her nipples to hardness as he kissed along her bared shoulders.

And then she stepped outside herself and watched them. Watching how he folded around her, how the muscle in his oddly pale arms hardened, his head bowed and his pointed ears--

 _Solas._

The realization hit her like a brick. She felt everything clench with _heat_ , a sharp and unexpected jolt of arousal. His fingers were long and slender. He smelled like cinnamon when he was this close. His magic was more metallic in scent. There was something electric about the combination.

She suddenly felt him behind her, surrounding her. He nipped at the tip of her ear and she cried out softly.

" _Hahren....._ "

He fingers found wet heat. " _Vhenan_ ," he growled.

She jolted, on the verge of coming--

It was too intense. 

She woke up, twisting around herself, and moaned. 

Cullen leaned over her. “Are you—“

She pulled him into her, almost immediately grinding against him. She clung to him, writhing underneath him. 

He grunted, unable to help but grind back. 

She couldn't seem to get enough friction. Her hips jerked against his until she finally just dropped, pulling open her shirt and yanking it off. Then she went for her trousers. Cullen was just staring at her. At the intensity of her need. It was apparent in every twitch, and as he helped her, finding how wet she was, overcome by the scent of her. Stroking her folds and then swirling her swollen clit. She cried out, twitching at the first wave. It was faint but enough to take the edge off while he opened his own trousers.

She moaned, pushing her pants off so she could get on her hands and knees. She heard him grunt and grab her hips. His cock was hard. He slowly slid against her slick folds. Then he grabbed her shoulder and jolted himself into her with one deep stroke. She cried out, something desperate. And he grabbed her hips and he fucked her. Her spine bowed to him, his hands hard on her hips as he slammed her back onto him. Over and over. She was so _tight_.

And he pressed everywhere inside of her, body electrified at his ferocity. Arching her hips so he would grind against her clit at each stroke. She tried to move, trying to make him speed up.

He growled, grip bruising as he kept her still. Watching her writhe on the tip of his cock, feeling her body clenching, searching for him.

He slammed into her. Harder. Deeper. 

She came again, harder this time. He had to slow to work her through it. And when the grip in her eased, he began again. He slammed into her, pinning her against him, yanking her up by her arms. Against his chest. Grabbing her breasts and pulling deeper into his cock. She writhed on him. Her eyes were almost black with it. She dragged her fingers into her own hair, pulling to try to keep herself grounded. But Cullen's hands were sliding over ribs, waist and then stroking her swollen cunt. She came in his lap, it made her eyes roll back and her whole body trembled. 

Cullen pushed her back down onto her hands so he could grab her waist, pulling her into him with a deep groan. He fucked her. Deeper, faster, harder.

He came with a broken growl, holding himself inside of her and biting into her shoulder. When it passed, he collapsed on top of her. She stretched beneath his warmth and weight like he were a heavy blanket. He stayed there until they got their breath back before easing himself off of her.

Cullen stroked her hair until she turned over to look at him, moving into his touch. "What were you dreaming about before you woke up. You were so desperate.”

Izzy suddenly remembered. Her face burned red as she promptly avoided his gaze. “I had…uh. A dream.”

He smiled a little, somewhat playful. “What about?”

She allowed an embarrassed chuckle, definitely looking away because she somehow felt _guilt_. “Um, well…much like what we just did, I guess.”

“You guess? You don’t know?”

Her shoulders hunched a little, felt her neck sweat as her flush had her ears burning. “I do…just…its, uh—“

Cullen sat up, gesturing for her to as well. They sat cross-legged from each other. “Like this?” He asked her, pointedly meeting her gaze as he reached out, sliding his hands down her arms. He felt her shiver as he took her hands. “Was he holding your hands?”

“I…well…” Izzy fumbled, struck with shame and also a hot coal of arousal that made her eyes feel dark. ( _Is he seriously doing this. Ohpleasebeseriouslydoingthis. Thatssowrong. Thisisterrible_ ) She breathed, watching Cullen move his calloused thumbs over her knuckles. “Um….no. He wasn’t.”

_Please don’t fucking ask who_

She _felt_ Cullen’s focus sharpen on her. He shifted to her, sliding his palms up her arms and then taking her breasts in his hands. Her nipples hardened, tightening into nubs almost immediately. “Was he holding your breast?”

She took a shuddery breath. “Y-yes.”

Cullen made an approving sound, leaning in to kiss her throat as he kneaded at her nipples. She squirmed against him. “Was he behind you?” Cullen’s voice dropped, sounding a touch husky.

“Yes,” she managed. 

He was up in a flash, shifting around her. He slid his hands around her to continue to touch her breasts. She moaned softly, arching into him. 

“What else did he do?”

She looked away, looking flushed, embarrassed still. “He….I….” She swallowed hard, trying not to think about it, trying to shake off the hot haze of— 

“Did he touch you?” He asked in her ear. He felt her shudder.

“Yes,” she said faintly.

“Like this?” he asked, leaving one hand on her breast. The other slid down between her ribs, tracing down to her navel. Then further, into damp curls.

“Yes…y-yes….” She moaned, hips jerking.

He massaged her clit, sliding down to her entrance and edging inside before whisking back up to her clit. She was slick and swollen and soft. The hand on her breast abandoned it, sliding his full palm down her side, behind her thigh and gathering in that slick heat while his other hand worked her from the front. She jerked against him and felt the fingers behind her pull back the slickness and then found her anus.

Cullen circled it, hooking into her. And then stopped strumming her clit. She sagged, nerves ragged. He massaged there, gathering more of her and circling her anus with it. And then sliding a finger in. Circling the rim of her and sinking. Her muscles clenched. He moved his other hand back to her swollen clit, circling it. He felt her muscle instantly spread, her cunt pulsed and the slickness indicated her frustration and desire. He kept massaging, letting his finger sink in completely. He wiggled it.

She cried out—and then she suddenly came, giving a harsh, shaking moan as her body slumped. 

Cullen breathed in her ear, one hand roaming her skin while the other massaged _inside_ of her. She took a panicked breath, spine arching. His other hand rubbed soothing circles into her flank. “It’s all right. Relax.” And then he resumed, pressing, massaging, sliding back and forth in careful strokes. Her body flared with heat. 

He removed his fingers and hilted himself in her cunt with one powerful stroke.

She pulsed, shuddering.

“I see…” Cullen murmured in her ear. “Was he built like me?”

She felt another flash of guilt, shame, but also intense arousal. He was nestled inside of her, holding her against him, arm locked around her as sat up on his knees. 

“I—I don’t know,” she managed. 

“Long fingers?” he husked in her ear. He slid two fingers down between her thighs again, massaging her slowly as he leaned back with her astride him, pinning her arms behind her with his other hand. 

“…Cullen…” she tried to shake her head.

“Long fingers?” he asked again, speeding up his strokes.

“Yes,” she answered, voice anguished.

He rewarded her with a hard, deep thrust. He felt her tighten up around him. Drawing back and rolling into her core. She tried to rock against him but he grabbed her hips, strangling her movements and sitting up. It forced her to lean forward, bracing her elbows on the bed as he spread her beneath him, slamming into her. His control crumbled. Each hand wrapped into her thigh, thrusting her back onto him. He watched her spine arch, dark hair tumbling back and sticking to the sweat on her skin as he jerked her harder, driving as deep as he could. He leaned over her. “You’re so _soft_.”

She pulsed and then _clenched_ , hips snapping and her whole body shaking. He immediately grabbed her, redoubling his efforts. He came so hard he saw stars, still feeling her pulsing hard around him as they came down.

She _throbbed_ around him for several minutes, twitching under him until they regained the strength to shift, lying next to each other. 

She still felt disoriented. Exhaustion perhaps. But…something was…

Cullen wrapped an arm around her, securing her against him. That made her feel better. She could hang onto him. He would stop her if—

 

 

 

_I do something._

Izzy opened her eyes. She looked around her, examining the dim walls and empty room.

She sat up. She was dreaming. Yes. She was sure of that. But she felt more aware this time. More….in control. 

But things seemed a little strange too. Some kind of odd…rhythm. The way the water dripped was the same pattern. Never changing. A door shut, chatter rose and died, someone asked about those stupid turnips again—

It was like a strange song. Like the world had music. But it wasn’t peaceful, like she might have expected. It was…different. Pretty tones but….sort of scratchy too….

A minor matter. She’d look into it later. Having even this much control was amazing. She slipped through the hallways like a ghost. She lurked in the background of a dream. It was mostly flashes of color—

She screamed, felt desperate _panic_ , totally forgot she was dreaming as she slid in the mud. Someone was shrieking in Orlesian. _Mama! Jeran--_ And then a _punch_ as the arrow slammed into her back. She felt into the mud. Terror flooded up and out her eyes and nose and mouth--

“That the last one?” A voice asked, though she couldn’t see him.

Someone drew a knife. It was icy cold against all the blood. “Yes, Captain.”

Suddenly, a wrenching of fear and terror and suffocating shame. She wasn’t the child anymore, staggering away.

“Stop it,” Izzy told herself sternly. “Get ahold of yourself." She took several deep breaths. The rain stopped, the mud and killers disappeared. "This is just the Fade! Stop being so stupid. You’re in control here, remember.” She pointed to herself. “Iron Bull. Tell me I’m in control.”

“You’re in control, boss.”

Izzy nodded sternly to herself and then suddenly looked around. Of course, Iron Bull wasn’t there. 

“Right,” she said softly. "Right."

 

 

 

She left the dreamers of Skyhold. 

She wasn’t exactly sure how. She went out to a balcony and thought of a desert, empty and silent. It rushed to her and when she looked behind her, Skyhold was gone. 

It was almost dusk here. Not hot, breezy. The sand was firm as she walked out into it, looking to the south for the sea of stars that melted against the northern dusk.

“I’m in control here.” She reached out her hand and a staff glowed before her. When she touched it, it turned pewter and silver. The end hit the ground and her clothes changed. The bohemian robes, a strange marking on her forehead, chiming little bells sewn into her sleeves as she strode up a swell of sand and stared at the cursed city of Barindur. 

Something in her belly stabbed, and she staggered. Izzy grabbed into her staff, looking down at the gold paint on her darkened skin. 

_Why pain?_

She straightened, feeling sweat on her brow. 

There were three people in front of her. A woman with golden armor and flexible mail, a man in platinum armor that was like a second skin, it fitted to him without a crease. Another man in robes that were long and black, embroidered across it was a white peacock with golden feathers. The stances and the attacks seemed familiar somehow, though she didn’t know these three people. She never seemed to see their faces. Everything blurred into the colors and the snap of fabric. 

She blazed passed them, grabbing into the essence of the Fade, a chunk of sky, slamming it into the black-robed man. She shot her hand _up_ and the sand went with it. It formed a shell around him and with one _crush_ , he was gone. 

Golden Armor suddenly changed gears, slashing with a spirit weapon. They glowed differently in the Fade, she noticed, almost absently. The spirit weapons, did. Though, well, the man in the platinum armor, _he_ was glowing. Izzy spun her staff and Golden Armor was trapped, impaled by hundreds of shards of Fade stone. Her blood was dark.

The man in platinum was glowing differently from the other two. Something about him seemed strange. Something intense. Hidden. Waiting. 

He lifted his palm and she saw the anchor.

She jolted back into herself, looking down. Her anchor was still there, pulsing and throbbing. 

“You want the anchor,” she said quietly.

The man didn’t answer. His eyes glowed. 

“Well, too pissing bad, glow-clops.”

He reached out—

And she felt a wave of rage, a flood of power, something red and hot burning in her stomach and spreading to her arms and legs and when it hit the anchor—there was a flash of light.

Everything seared to ash. Everything destroyed. Towns, villages, cities, homes, travelers, Circles, Kingdoms. Gone. 

So much power, _too_ much—

Something _pulsed_

She jolted awake, hearing Cullen cry out and then there was a _slam_. The bed collapsed. The anchor _burned_ , worse than it ever had. She writhed, unable to help it—crying out in a broken sob. 

Cole appeared, standing by flaps of the tent. “It’s growing. It’s singing.”

Cullen lurched up from the floor. She’d blasted him right off the bed and into a trunk of her gear. “What?” he commanded as he strode back over to Izzy.

“There,” Cole said faintly, pointing at her.

Cullen went cold. He yanked the twisted blanket off of her and pulled up her nightshirt. 

That eye of red lyrium was there, glimmering back at him.

Cullen swallowed hard. "Find Sera and Varric."


	11. Where Willows Wail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tel’enara bellana bana’vhenadahl_
> 
>  
> 
> It echoed in her head. A similar meter but the meaning—
> 
> The wet warmth around her toes rose to her ankles. It was sticky, slick. She smelled copper and the stench of burnt hair. There was a massacre somewhere ahead. Somewhere. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
> 
> “Were wavering with wanion ward. When wishing waned, we wighters warred…”

He _hated_ her. Hated her. So much hatred and rage.

He’d truly loved her. Only love could be the equivalent of such rage. 

But the better she got at smithing and the more he saw of war and death—the less he felt like he knew her any longer.

After Kirkwall, when he found himself by her side, hiding out at an inn—she had that same challenging curl to her lip. The same snark in her voice, the same silly jokes but….it didn’t sit right with him anymore. Sometimes her mockery crossed so quickly into cruelty—not just to him but to a serving wench, a stranger on the road, a chantry sister who had done her no harm or slight.

She laughed it off every time. _C’mon, Varric, they’re just humans._

_C’mon Varric—elves, really? Ugh._

_So who’s this guy, Hawke, you’re running around with now? Another one of the riff-raff?_

There was a touch on his thigh, her rough toes tapped him. “Hey, you see kind of…I dunno. Off.”

They were each sitting in a chair, facing the other, naked. Her toes crossed the line into his territory and seemed content to keep her feet warm there. 

“Off?” Varric asked with a lazy half-smile. “I can go back on again anytime.” He winked at her.

“No, I mean…” Bianca studied him for a moment and then went with, “You are handling all this a lot better than I expected. I mean. When you told me about it…I was expecting you to be kind of, I dunno. Unhinged?”

“Well, it just _isn’t_ the same without the Hanged Man around. I kind of miss that awful dive.”

“Varric. Do you even _remember_ the letters you wrote?”

“Before Bartrand or after?”

“Varric, they were—“

“—because I am terrible at small talk both in real life _and_ in letters—“

“—pretty terrible. I mean. I was pretty freaked out, thinking—“

“—haha, like right there. As if I’d write this in a book—”

“—that you were going to die.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Varric sat up, scratching his bared shoulder. “Ha. Not compelling at all. Boring stupid dwarf and his more interesting but far more stupid, little brother. It’s…” Varric trailed off a little, glancing away from her and waving his hand to dismiss it.

She sighed. “Where’s Hawke? Couldn’t he stay with you and help you?”

“Oh yeah, let’s rehash _that_ mess again,” Varric snorted.

“Well, seems like you saved his ass. Sounds like he owes you. You can’t let these humans fuck you over, Varric—“

“I’m—what?!” Varric stared at her. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“Hawke! Most of this entire clusterfuck is his fault.”

Varric’s mouth fell open. He stared at her, completely blindsided. “You…think I blame Hawke?” 

“It’s not a popular opinion, yeah—but most people would. It’s just—“

“I don’t give a _fuck_ about that!” Varric drug his hand down his face. “What the fuck—are you _serious_ right now? Why the hell would I blame _Hawke_? He didn’t destroy Kirkwall.”

“Oh really?” Biana challenged. “Then who did? Because I’m pretty sure he was at the head of that rat pack.”

“I did,” Varric said. He was floundering inside. He hadn’t realized until now that Bianca didn’t understand. How could he make her understand? How could he help her see? “I….I destroyed Kirkwall. When I brought back the red lyrium from the thaig where Bartrand tried to kill us—and that was the catalyst for the grand finale. A bloodbath in the dark streets of Kirkwall, screaming and demons and…so many _people died_ , Bianca. It’s not _anyone’s_ fault. Bad things just always happen.”

The smith blinked, peering at him like she’d never seen him before. “Varric….that’s….I mean. Aren’t you Andrastian? The Maker is watching out for good people, right?” Her tone was careful, trying to smile for him.

“What do gods or prophets or mages or witches or any of it have anything to do with the Maker? If the Maker punishes us with the torment of the blight because we apparently didn’t throw Him an extravagant birthday party and next thing you know, Torma’s bled a keg and the Maker throws a fit and decides he doesn’t want to play with us anymore—then He’s about as useful as every other charlatan, performer and nug oil saleman I’ve ever met.”

“Varric—that’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”

“What would you know? Were you in Kirkwall?”

“You’ve always been over the top, and I was working. I mean, c’mon.”

“For six years you couldn’t manage it one time. Seems like it’s always on me to go to you.”

“Well, my family _does_ send assassins after you every time they hear about you.” She chuckled.

Something sunk like heavy lead in Varric’s stomach, his skin went cold. He got up from the chair and went to find his clothes. 

He remembered this. How he silently dressed and walked out the door. 

Until he didn’t.

Varric paused, looking back. Bianca just looked smug. Her stupid smug face. Why were good smiths such assholes about it? He turned away from the door, vision tunneling in on Bianca.

“Varric?” Bianca said carefully, pulling on a robe. “C’mon, quit fucking around.”

The dwarf crossed the warm rug and grabbed her. He _felt_ her smugness, her sense of _triumph_. And then everything in her went still and silent. Trying to process, struggling to comprehend what had happened. Something was wrong.

Varric’s hands were suddenly hot. 

His knife ripped into her abdomen, opening her stomach and exposing all the red lyrium inside. Like a music box of flesh, it chimed and sang and murmured—with this maddening scratching sound that he could _feel_. Blood spurted from her mouth and nose, some of it hit his face.

All the smugness disappeared, replaced by shock, disbelief, _betrayal_.

“Why couldn’t you be there for me, once? Just once?” He asked her, voice gruff and choked. 

He pinned Bianca to the floor. The red lyrium in her grew, cementing her to the floor. Varric put his large, rough hands around her throat. 

“I _hate_ you,” he murmured to himself, squeezing harder and harder. He was sobbing by the time she went limp, blood seeping from her nose and mouth and ears. “I hate how we pretend there’s still something there between us. Like we have to stay together out of spite. I don’t want to anymore—“

“Varric?”

The dwarf opened his eyes. He was covered in sweat and pale as milk. Hawke was kneeling beside him. “Shit, Varric, are you—“

“I _killed_ Bianca. She’s dead! I killed her. I put my hands around her throat and I choked her to death—“

“Whoa, what—Varric, slow down—“

“I remembered—is that why—haven’t seen her since after Kirkwall. I’m deluding myself. I killed her. I killed her. I gutted her to let all the—“

“Varric! It was just a dream—“ Hawke froze. He stared at Varric.

“Dwarves don’t dream,” Varric murmured.

“Varric,” Hawke said, louder. “Varric, stay with me.” He grabbed his friend, sitting him up and looking at his too-wide eyes. 

“Is that what really happened? I made myself block it out? Because I couldn’t take it anymore. I killed her—“

“Varric, calm down.”

“I hated her but I didn’t want her _dead_. But just like fucking Bartrand—I guess I just _had_ to do it myself—“

“Varric, you didn’t kill Bianca!”

“You don’t understand. I saw it. I _saw_ it.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s _real_ , Varric.”

“Then what the fuck are we even doing out here! How do we know all _this_ is real?!”

“Varric, take some deep breathes, buddy. Varric—“

The tent fluttered and the flap whipped aside. Cassandra poked her head in. “Hawke?”

The Champion of Kirkwall looked to the seeker. “Something’s wrong.”

“Cole came and told me. Something happened to the Inquisitor as well.” She came in, kneeling beside Hawke and grabbed Varric’s ankle. 

“It’s too late,” Varric said softly. “It’s too late. It’s too late—“

“Cole,” Cassandra said, turning her head towards the opening of the tent.

The spirit came through, slipping over to Varric’s side and sitting on his knees beside him. 

“Kid…” Varric managed, shuddering. 

“It’s all right. It’s not your fault,” Cole said softly.

Cassandra yanked his pant leg up.

Hawke breathed in sharply. “The red lyrium.”

“It’s growing back.”

“Sera hurts,” Cole said, almost pleadingly, to Cassandra. “We have to find her.”

Cassandra whipped around and waved to one of the scouts. “Any of you see Sera walk out of camp?”

“No, ma’am."

Cassandra whipped open Sera’s tent and found Josephine and Leliana already there. The ambassador looked at Cassandra, hopeful.

Leliana did not. She had her arms crossed, deep in thought as she stared at Sera’s disheveled blankets. 

“She’s gone?” Cassandra said.

Leliana nodded.

“Shit.”

 

 

Sera was standing in Redcliffe. In that dead house—the one with all the tranquil skulls. Cole had nearly had a fit when they’d entered it. 

There was all that whispering in the northern corner. It was louder there than anywhere else. They made a hypnotic sort of sound, whirling and pulsing into her ears and then her eyes until she was sure she could almost see through the Veil—

She jerked back from the corner, looking around the house. Pieces of tranquil were lying about on shelves and in the dirt. 

“What do you hear, Sera?”

“Nothing. Piss off.”

“You hear the whispers here. The veil is thin—“

“—because yes, lots of people died, I get it.”

“Does it make you feel something?”

“Piss. Off.”

“So it _does_.”

The walls darkened, the torches and candles dimmed. All she could see was Solas, something glowing, blazing around him. 

“You see it like I do,” Cole said. He was standing behind Solas, in the shadow of his glow. One brilliant, dead blue eye flickering out at her.

“I said I didn’t want to go into dreams with you!” Sera snapped. “Why did you bring me here!”

Solas faded. But not completely. Like the glow from him and his physical body became jarred, slightly separated. She saw Solas and saw…. _Solas_.

His hair was dark auburn, like his eyebrows. It was long but pulled back in a tail. He was wearing wine-red robes, trimmed with russet brown. There was a twig in his hair and he was sweating. His boots were covered in mud. 

This Solas remained. The other vanished. He looked at Sera and then his eyes slid over to someone else. A handsome sort of human man with dark hair and gold-colored eyes. 

“Well, well, fancy meeting you here,” Sera heard herself say.

“How coincidental, my lady,” the human said, giving her a bow. “Were you also searching for Solas?”

“Yes. Lady Ghilan’nain wishes to speak to him.”

Solas glanced between her and the human again. “Perhaps, my lady, my lord, you both might explain your reasons for wishing to find me? Perhaps, your aim is the same.”

“Are you going to kill him?” Anaris asked.

“Tch, if Solas dies it won’t be by my hand. It’ll likely be Falon’Din. Because Din is crazy.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Solas advised, smiling a little.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you,” Sera scoffed at him. 

“Don’t they say the same about you?” Anaris asked her. “Andruil is out hunting again. That’s all she knows what to do with her madness. And so on?”

“Funny coming from you. But maybe with all that blood magic in your ears, you can’t hear what you’re saying.”

“When did you speak with Ghilan’nain?”

“Why is that your fucking business?”

“Because Ghilan’nain also asked _me_ to look for him. I can’t imagine she would ask us _both_. Not anymore.”

“What do they give a piss so much about you for?” Sera said, suddenly outside of the three, looking in at them. 

Beside her, Solas said, “Sera?”

She looked at him and rolled her eyes. “What.”

“What are you doing here?”

Sera stared blankly at him. “What?”

“Sera,” Solas said, louder. “What are you _doing_ here? How did you _get_ here?”

“You’re the one controlling the Fade or whatever, you tell me.”

“Sera. _You’re_ not dreaming.”

Sera looked around them, then slowly back at Solas. “You are? _You’re_ dreaming?”

“Not anymore,” Solas peered at her. “Where are you, Sera?”

“I don’t bloody know! How would I know! I’ve never done this shite before!”

“No, Sera—I need you to stop and really _think_ about it. Where _are_ you?”

It was like taking steps back through her own head. She stepped out of Solas’ dream, into the Desert—or the Fade—or whatever existed inbetween dreamers’ minds. Standing next to Solas, she stepped back again—

Her eyes opened. 

Sera was somewhere very dark. There was cold stone under her bare feet. She was still in her night clothes. A long linen shirt and billowing loose trousers like the ones she’d seen in Antiva and Nevarra. There was a single dagger strapped to her thigh. She shivered and knelt down, searching with her hands. She seemed to be standing in the middle of some sort of walkway. Her hands found stone on both sides of her. She whistled, listening to the echoes fly away from her down the path and then looked up and sang one long note. It hardly echoed at all. So a tunnel, perhaps. Likely man-made. The walls were rather smooth but served function over art. Not smooth like marble floors in fancy houses, but smoothed by carving tools, jutting and sharp.

She could feel instinctively that she was alone. Nothing person-sized nearby. 

She was also fairly certain she’d never slept-walked before. Not that she was much known for her certainty or memory. 

That thought made her stop. _Was I not aware of that until now?_

She pushed it away. _Later. Later! Get out of here first, stupid!_

Sera slid her fingers along the wall, hearing the drip-drop of water somewhere. She stepped lightly, carefully, toes feeling the stone floor, feeling every detail in the rock and dirt. It was so quiet.

It was too quiet.

“When waked, we walked where willows wail,” Sera said softly. She swallowed hard, feeling something warm and wet touch her feet. Something in her quaked, terror like ice racing up her spine. “Whose withered windings…w-want wassail. We weary-worn with wited wale…”

_Tel’enara bellana bana’vhenadahl_

It echoed in her head. A similar meter but the meaning—

The wet warmth around her toes rose to her ankles. It was sticky, slick. She smelled copper and the stench of burnt hair. There was a massacre somewhere ahead. Somewhere. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Were wavering with wanion ward. When wishing waned, we wighters warred…”

She saw a flicker of light.

_Sethen’a ir san’shiral, mala tel’halani_

Sera kept touching the stone wall to guide her, heading for that light.

_Ir sa’vir te’suledin var bana’vallaslin_

She came to it. And it was red, glowing almost gold as her eyes adjusted. The red lyrium reflected high as the tunnel opened into a cavern. 

In the center, surrounded by dead dragonlings and hooded figures, was an elf. This elf was unmarked. 

She had long hair and she was covered in blood. “ _Vora’nadas san banal’him emma abel revas._ ”

The hooded elves around her all had face tattoos. Their robes were stiff with dried blood. Though it was dragonic blood, not their own.

“ _Ir tela’ena glandival, vir amin tel’hanin._ ”

“There are others who remain,” said the dark-haired human man with the golden eyes as he appeared from the shadows. He approached the elf woman. “One day, he will wake.”

She looked down at her blood-soaked hands. “ _Ir tela las ir Fen halam, vir am’tela’elvahen._ ”

Sera stilled. “When wolfen wan, we wastrels warred.”

“It was all a waste. All the death,” the woman said. “Mythal would have been forced to kill him for leading the slaves to war against Elgar’nan. She let us kill her to protect him. She _had_ to have known—once it started, once Elgar’nan found out she was involved, he’d have her killed. She must have known.”

“But she died to protect the Dread Wolf and the slaves.”

“And it was all in vain. Now we war against each other. We’re all going to die, Anaris.”

“There is a chance,” Anaris told her. “Ghilan’nain is out there somewhere. Falon’Din escaped. And we’re here.”

“We won’t live long enough for the Wolf to come out of Uthenera. Even now, I can feel it. The Veil has taken our magic away.”

“There’s still blood magic. I still use it. If we bind ourselves to bloodlines, there’s a chance that one of us might survive.”

The elf shuddered. “So I’ll be trapped in the Fade and you’ll die.”

“I am human, yes. And when you die….” Anaris shook his head. “You’ll likely be forced to return to the Fade.”

“I hate the Fade,” the woman said softly and then shook herself. “All right.” She shook her hands out. “So, all of us that took mortal forms—with the Veil, they won’t be able to leave them now, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Anaris said softly, looking down. “Andruil—“

“Let’s get it done then.”

Sera watched them bring forward two more elves. A male and a female. They did not fight at all, in fact, they seemed aware of what was happening. The male elf knelt first.

“I bind your bloodline beginning with you and all of your descendants. That one of you may still survive to the time when the Dread Wolf awakens.” Anaris slit his own arm, smearing the blood onto the male elf and then using the rest to drawn a circle of binding around him on the stone. “When he does, help him to understand what happened.” He placed a small statuette of a wolf next to the elf. “We don’t know what will happen to the state of magic now. Keep that with you. He said it was bound to him by blood. It will know when he wakes.”

“He’ll be driven mad when he sees what has happened to all his work,” Andruil said softly.

“If he ever comes out of Uthenera, he’ll be weakened. If he goes mad then…” Anaris frowned. “If he goes mad then it may be kinder to….stop him.”

The male elf nodded. “I understand.”

“I pray it doesn’t come to that.”

Shadows ghosted up around the male elf and the blood became a fog. It settled over his face, blending with the blood-magic bindings of Ghilan’nain that marred him. 

Andruil followed then, slicing open her arm and marking the female elf. She had no tattoos on her face so Andruil traced the limbs of the tree on her forehead. “I bind your bloodline beginning with you and all of your descendants. That one of you may still survive to the time when the Dread Wolf awakens. It could be a thousand years from now. Stay strong. Dark times are ahead. For all of us.”

“My Lady,” the female elf said and bowed her head. 

Shadows and blood fog swallowed her up at Anaris' gesture.

“Now,” said Anaris, after the magic settled. “Go, quickly. Stay out of the cities until the wars are over. Do not become involved unless you have to. We need you two to survive. Lady Andruil and I must go to the Wolf’s dreaming chamber. Don’t stay in one place for too long.”

The two elves nodded and hurried away.

Andruil walked over to a platform and stepped onto it, lighting torches by hand. There was a tall mirror there. It didn’t reflect the light at all.

“Do we know where this one goes?” Anaris asked.

“No. And I can’t open it any longer.”

Anaris looked down at his bleeding arm, at the warm corpses of the dragonlings. “I’ll try blood magic.”

“I hate this,” Andruil sighed and went to help him, harvesting the dragon’s blood, the blood of the dead elves. “There are more corpses…downstairs.” 

“Hopefully we won’t need them. But the least these loyalists can do is help us escape by using their blood.”

Anaris invoked around the bowl of blood, adding his own. He looked drawn afterwards.

Sera found herself looking at the two of them from the mirror’s other side. No longer in the tunnel, the stone, the dark. She watched Anaris touch the mirror, looking at his flattened palm.

“Sera!”

She turned away from the mirror. Like stepping back inside her head. 

“Sera?”

She found Cole looking at her. “Creepy.”

“Sera.”

The elf looked around. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a cave, Sera. You disappeared from camp.”

“That was a dream,” she said sharply. “It was just a stupid dream.”

Cole reached out and touched her arm. “Come back to camp. We have to get it out before it sings again.”

“Before what—“

Cole pulled up her sleeve. The red lyrium winked back at her. 

And behind her, from where it had grown over some sort of platform. 

“Cole!” Someone called out. A bead of light appeared and a torch emerged from the dark.

“She’s here!” Cole called.

Leliana appeared with Solas, Blackwall and Cassandra.

“Sera, are you all right?” Blackwall asked immediately, starting forward with a torch.

“We need to get back. Come on,” Cassandra commanded. She started to turn back around.

Solas paused, staring at the lyrium-covered platform. He raised his staff to brighten the room. “Is this what drew you here, Sera?”

“I dunno. Stupid platform and stupid lyrium and stupid mirrors or whatever.”

“Mirrors?” Solas asked sharply. “What mirror?”

“I dunno!” She snapped. “I—“

“We can examine this cheery place later,” Leliana said quietly. “Come on. We have to get back to Varric and the Inquisitor.”

 

 

Morrigan, who was traveling with them now with her son, was waiting in the command tent when Cassandra walked in with Sera. Morrigan studied the elf. “Interesting, you’re the only one who could keep her feet.”

Sera started forward. “Quizzers? Hey—“ Her whole arm twitched around the red lyrium. She grit her teeth and Leliana grabbed her to steady her.

“Careful,” Dorian said. “Sit down, Sera.”

Hawke was sitting by a cot that held Varric. The dwarf’s eyes were glazed and wide. His breathing was stilted and he was sweating. 

Izzy was lying on another cot. Her eyes were open a little, looking up at Cullen as he gently stroked her hair. “That was why your dreams were bad…” she murmured to him. “Because of me. Because of the lyrium. Cullen….”

“Shhh,” Cullen murmured, soothing. “It’s all right. Don’t worry for it. I’ve had worse.”

The anchor pulsed again and Izzy took a rough breath. Cullen squeezed her right hand, shaking out a kerchief in case she had a fit. Solas went to them, kneeling on her left side and took her left hand. 

“Try to be calm, _lethallan_.” He focused around her palm, attempting to quiet the Anchor.

“Can we at least dull the pain?” Cullen asked.

“Your alchemist, Minaeve, she’s getting her store of witherstalk. We can use the milk to help sedate them,” Morrigan said as Blackwall rebuilt the fire. 

“We’re within a day’s ride from Adamant,” Cassandra said. “We can’t just stay here. If a scout comes across us—“

“They already know we’re coming,” Leliana said quietly. “They’d have to, at least, expect it.”

“I’m actually rather surprised we haven’t run into some already,” Dorian said. “But they seem more interested in binding demons than in keeping watch.”

“Why does he even need Wardens to bind demons?” Blackwall asked. “Why not just bind the demons himself?”

“I suppose even raving blighted red lyrium magisters have their limits,” Dorian mused. 

Minaeve entered the tent. Solas got up to assist her. Morrigan went to her as well. “Get it prepared and then I will bind the lyrium.”

“You will?” Solas challenged, examining her.

“Yes, elf, I will.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

Morrigan lifted her eyebrows at him. “Likely by doing something you haven’t thought of.”

Leliana looked down at the floor, unable to help the small smile that she couldn’t fight back. _Oh, Morrigan._

“The wound will never completely heal. But it can be contained—at least with these two,” she nodded to Varric and Sera. “The Inquisitor will likely have to fight it as long as she has the Anchor.”

“Will Varric stop dreaming?” Hawke asked her, standing beside his cot.

“Varric had a _dream_?” Sera asked.

“He dreamed that he killed a friend. But I _know_ he didn’t. He would _never_ have harmed her. It had to be a dream.”

“Wow,” Sera mused. “I bet it’s hard to know what’s real when you don’t know what a dream _is_.”

Varric chuckled faintly. “You got no fucking idea, Buttercup. I think I understand why so many of you are crazy now.”

Solas was still frowning by Minaeve’s side as he shredded elfroot for her. She caught his eye and silently touched his arm.

Strange, really, how she had come to read him so quickly.

He gave her a little nod and dumped the elfroot into a pot for her. Morrigan drew out the witherstalk milk. Sera took it gladly.

But Varric shook his head. “I don’t want to dream again.”

“Varric, it’s just going to sedate you. It’ll be for the best.”

“Hawke—I don’t—I can’t—I don’t want to dream again.”

“Varric, you cannot fight with us if you could collapse because of the lyrium. Let Lady Morrigan try to contain it.”

“She can!” Varric said. “That’s fine! Just don’t sedate me!”

“Stop bein such a baby,” Sera said, voice starting to slur. “We have to dream all the fucking time.”

“Screw you,” Varric retorted. “I—“

“Varric,” Hawke said, putting a bracing hand on his shoulder. “It won’t be long.”

Varric looked at Hawke, then at Morrigan. “Ugh. Fine.” Hawke helped him sit up and took the small cup from Morrigan, steadying it for Varric to let the dwarf drink it. 

Cullen helped Izzy sit up, perching her against his shoulder and putting the cup to her lips to make her drink. She, Sera and Varric quieted, slumping back to their cots. 

Minaeve was mixing the burning syrup she’d used while Morrigan and Dorian cleaned the wound sites on the rogues and the mage. 

“This containment you’re going to try,” Dorian said. “Is it blood magic?”

Morrigan looked sidelong at him. “It could be called such. As could many things. Though I imagine you already know that. You are Tevinter, are you not?”

Dorian nodded but only settled in to watch her when she drew a dagger. 

The cuts she made were angled and sharp, intersecting diamonds of red, using the lyrium as a central point. 

Keiran appeared from somewhere, standing by Sera’s cot to watch. “Do you need me, Mother?”

Morrigan did not look at her son, studying the careful edges. “No, my love.”

“Not this close to Adamant, Mother?”

Morrigan’s eyes flickered. “Yes. Not this close to Adamant.”

“We’ll help them properly later?”

“Yes.”

Keiran smiled. “I like it when we help people.”

Across the cot, Cole looked at him. “I do too!”

Morrigan glanced between the two of them.

“Don’t mind Cole,” Dorian said quietly, smiling a little. “He’s like that.”

“Is that so?” Morrigan answered, peering at Cole for a long few moments. 

“You don’t fear me,” Cole said. It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Morrigan answered.

“You’ve seen stranger things.”

“Indeed, I have.”

“Like your mother.”

That made Morrigan smile a little, eyebrows lifting. “She might be considered more dangerous, rather than strange.”

“How _is_ your mother?” Leliana said suddenly. “Is she alive somewhere again?”

“Again?” Cassandra asked.

“Very likely.” Morrigan answered and then invoked over Sera’s arm. The slashes and blood flared with power. A perfect bare circle appeared around the gem of red lyrium. Then markings of binding spidered out, blooming over Sera’s arm from elbow to wrist.

Morrigan then repeated the process on Varric. Dorian offered his own strength first, then Solas did as well—as, even despite the red lyrium, Varric still proved resistant to regular magic. Like Sera’s binding, there was a perfect bare circle around the lyrium crystal and the binding spiraled down to his ankle and up to his knee. 

Vivienne and Minaeve had to join in for Izzy—as the anchor caused a flood of interference. 

Cole appeared by Cullen, who was standing back against the wall. “You want to help but that would mean lyrium. She wouldn’t want you to.”

Cullen looked at the floor. “That’s small comfort.”

“You’d risk it because you love her. But she’d rather risk the pain than have you risk madness.”

Cullen glanced sidelong at Cole. 

“Horrid,” Vivienne said softly, shaking her head at the red lyrium crystals now contained in its binding circle. The markings on Izzy’s abdomen stretched from her pelvic bone to her left breast. “I wouldn’t want to hear whatever she’s hearing.”

Morrigan scoffed but then turned her attention to Minaeve. “Now, use that foul-smelling potion to burn it out again.” 

“If something happens with the demons at Adamant, will these bindings suffice?” Hawke asked. "There _will_ be red lyrium there."

“We’ll see, I suppose. There's nothing else we can do until we leave Adamant. The Veil is too unstable here to attempt anything more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From World of Thedas
> 
>  


End file.
